179' 


ARTHUR'S  NEW  RAINBOW  SERIES. 

AFTER  THE  STORM, 

LIGHT  ON  SHADOWED  PATHS. 

OUT  JN  THE  WORLD. 

OUR  NEIGHBORS  IN  THE  CORNER  HOUSE. 

NOTHING  BUT  MONEY 

WHAT  CAME  AFTERWARDS. 


Published  in  uniform  style,  cloth,  $1  60, 
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OUR  NEIGHBORS 


IN    THB 


CORNER  HOUSE. 


BY 


T.   S.   ARTHUR, 


PHILADELPHIA: 
JOHN   E.  POTTER  AND  COMPANY, 

Nos.  614  AND  617  SANSOM  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 
GEO.  W.  CAELETON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


OUR  NEIGHBORS  IN  THE  CORNER  HOUSE. 


CHAFTEfe\jL;  T  Vr.riJ 

'HE  corner  house  is  taken  at  last," 
said  my  wife  one  evening,  look 
ing  up  at  me  from  her  sewing ; 
"  I  saw  furniture  going  in  to 
day." 

I  give  the  landlord  joy,"  was  my  an 
swer. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  the  rent."     My 
wife  smiled. 

"  Yes.     His  interest  on  the  investment 
will  be  light  this  year." 

"While  I  am  thinking  of  the  tenants,  and 
wondering  what  kind  of  neighbors  we  are  to 
have." 

" Woman-like,"  said  I;  "have  you  seen  any 
thing  of  them  yet  ?  " 

"  A  carriage  brought  two  ladies  there.  I  hap 
pened  to  be  at  the  window  and  saw  the  face  of  one 
of  them  as  they  alighted.  It  was  that  of  a 
woman  past  middle  age — thin,  delicate  in  feature, 


MS8964 


6  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

with  a  cast  of  intellectual  refinement.     The  other 
was  in  black,  and  deeply  veiled.     By  her  figure 
and  style  of  dress,  I  should  say  she  was  young." 
f  "rMpth$r  and  daughter,  perhaps,"  said  I. 

^That  W9s:my;  inference." 

"In  mourning?  Probably  a  young  widow." 
\  ™  Or '&:yQurigJmcthe?,  sorrowing  for  the  loss  of 
her  first-born.'9  ' 

My  wife  sighed  ;  and  I  knew  the  meaning  of  her 
sigh.  Our  first-born  was  in  heaven.  Passing 
through  the  gate  of  death,  he  went  thitherward, 
years  gone  by,  while  yet  his  life  was  fragrant  with 
the  innocence  of  boyhood.  We  did  not  mourn 
for  him  in  black.  Oh,  no !  our  sorrow  was  too 
sacred  a  sentiment  to  be  intruded  upon  others ; 
and  we  could  not  shadow  thus  his  rosy  memory. 
Black  for  our  baby  ?  Oh,  no,  no !  Anything  but 
black !  White  were  better,  as  symbolizing  his 
angelic  purity. 

•     "  Will    you  call  upon  our  new  neighbors  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  From  curiosity,  inclination,  or  duty  ?  " 

"  Each  will  have  its  influence.  The  strongest 
may  be  inclination." 

On  the  next  evening  my  wife  had  something 
more  to  say  about  our  new  neighbors  in  the  corner 
house.  There  had  been  a  second  arrival  in  the 
person  of  a  middle-aged  man. 


THE   CORNER   HOTJSE.  7 

"  "What  kind  of  a  looking  man  was  he  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"I  saw  his  face  only  for  a  moment.  It  did 
not  impress  me  favorably.  But  faces  in  repose 
do  not  always  give  a  right  index  of  character." 

"  What  was  its  peculiarity  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  As  I  said  before,  I  only  saw  it  for  a  moment," 
replied  my  wife;  "  but  think  I  should  recognise 
it  again  anywhere." 

"  Then  it  must  have  been  a  strongly  marked 
face?" 

"It  was.  The  types  and  styles  of  face  that 
one  meets  every  day  are  singularly  varied ;  but 
not  one  in  a  hundred  stands  out  so  strongly  from 
the  rest  as  to  hold  the  eye  and  picture  itself  on 
the  mind  as  if  the  image  had  been  taken  by  a 
camera." 

"This  man's  face  then  belongs  to  the  one 
in  a  hundred." 

"  Yes." 

"Can  you  describe  it?" 

"  I  must  see  it  again  before  I  can  particularize. 
What  struck  me  was  prominence  of  feature — 
prominent  eyes,  nose,  lips,  and  chin." 

"  A  sensual  face." 

"  Sensual,  but  not  animal.  It  was  a  strong  face ; 
and  that  indicates  will  and  intellect  of  no  mean 
order." 

"Fair  or  dark?" 


OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  Almost  bronzed." 

"  You  seem  to  have  gathered  something  in 
that  single  glance,"  said  I,  smiling.  "  And  this 
is  all  as  to  the  new  tenants  of  the  corner  house?" 

"  All  that  has  yet  appeared." 

"  Not  all  that  will  appear." 

"  No,"  answered  my  wife ;  "  for  I  feel  just  curi 
ous  enough  to  be  observant,  and  I  think  there  is  a 
story  in  that  corner  house." 

"  There  is  a  story  in  every  house,"  said  I,  "  and 
one  to  strike  deep  chords  of  feeling  in  the  common 
heart  if  the  right  narrator  could  be  found." 

On  the  following  day,  as  I  passed  the  corner 
house,  I  glanced  up  at  the  parlor  windows,  the 
shutters  of  which  were  open.  A  face  that  was  a 
perfect  sunbeam  met  my  vision.  It  was  the  face 
of  a  child  lying  close  against  the  crystal  pane. 
But  another  face  drew  my  eyes  almost  instantly 
from  that  of  the  child.  It  was  a  little  back  in  the 
room,  and  partly  in  shadow ;  but  so  white  that  it 
seemed  ghostly.  I  saw  it  only  for  a  moment  in 
passing. 

"  Anything  more  from  the  corner  house  ?  "  said 
I,  on  meeting  my  wife  that  evening. 

She  gave  a  quiet  negative. 

"  I  have  seen  the  lady  in  black." 

"What  lady  in  black?" 

"  In  the  corner  house." 

"  Oh  !  have  you  ?  "  She  was  all  interest. 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  9 

"  I  saw  her  for  an  instant  as  I  passed  to-day. 
She  was  standing  a  little  removed  from  the  win 
dow,  at  which  was  one  of  the  loveliest  children  I 
have  ever  seen.  Her  face  was  like  alabaster — so 
pale  and  fixed ;  her  eyes  large,  dark,  and  sad.  If 
there  had  been  warmth  and  feeling  in  her  face,  she 
would  have  been  exquisitely  beautiful." 

"  I  wonder  who  she  can  be  ?  "  said  my  wife, 
visibly  excited  by  my  communication. 

"  The  corner  house  has  become  to  us  a  terra 
incognita.  There  will  have  to  be  a  voyage  of 
discovery,"  I  remarked. 

"  My  curiosity  is  so  piqued,  that  I  shall  certainly 
make  the  voyage  ere  long,"  said  my  wife.  "  There 
was  something  in  the  step  and  air  of  this  lady 
that  interested  me  when  I  saw  her  alight  from  the 
carriage.  I  felt  that  there  were  passages  in  her 
life  to  draw  strongly  on  a  woman's  sympathies." 

"  We  must  learn  the  name  of  this  family,  and 
something  about  them,"  said  I,  "  before  a  call  is 
made." 

"  The  name  at  least  ought  to  be  known." 

"  And  some  facts  in  regard  to  the  persons  ;  as  to 
their  standing  and  reputation,  for  instance,"  said  I. 

"  That  would  be  satisfactory  ;  but  I  don't  think 
it  probable  that  I  shall  delay  calling  for  a  very 
long  time,  should  the  antecedents  of  the  family  not 
appear.  The  face  I  saw,  taking  the  face  in  repose 
as  an  index  of  character — your  own  theory — 
1* 


10  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

was  sufficiently  indicative  of  a  true  woman  to 
warrant  friendly  advances." 

"  It  is  well,"  I  remarked,  "  to  let  prudential  con 
siderations  have  their  right  influence.  If  strangers 
make  a  mystery  of  their  antecedents,  the  inference 
lies  naturally  against  them." 

"  The  mystery  may  refer  to  things  over  which 
they  had  no  control.  We  must  not  wrong  the 
individual,  because  unhappily  the  bad  deeds  of 
another  have  furnished  his  life  with  sorrow,  and 
tainted  the  name  he  bears." 

"  If  we  know  the  truth,  then  we  can  act  justly," 
said  I.  "  It  does  not  do  to  infer  too  much  in 
regard  to  strangers,  if  our  conduct  towards  them  is 
to  be  governed  by  these  inferences." 

"  If  we  suppose  at  all,"  replied  my  wife,  "  why 
not  suppose  good?  If  a  stranger  clothes  him 
self  with  mystery,  why  not  infer  good  of  him 
instead  of  evil?  The  mystery  may  be  a  cloak  to 
hide  the  conduct  of  others ;  and  he  may  stand  in 
need  of  our  sustaining  ki|idness,  as  he  bends,  al 
most  fainting,  under  burdens  that  would  crush  the 
life  out  of  you  and  me." 

"  This  may  all  be  so,"  I  answered.  "  But  let  us 
look  for  a  moment  or  two  at  the  other  side,  and 
narrow  down  our  suppositions  to  the  present  case. 
A  family,  of  whom  we  know  nothing,  has  moved 
into  our  neighborhood.  There  is  a  mystery  about 
them;  and  where  there  is  mystery,  we  naturally 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  11 

infer  that  something  wrong  or  disgraceful  has  been 
done  either  by  the  individuals  themselves,  or  by 
friends  with  whom  they  stood  in  intimate  connex 
ion.  Now,  let  us  take  the  lady  in  black  at  the 
corner  house.  You  need  only  a  glance  at  her 
ghostly  face  to  be  assured  that  at  least  one  passage 
in  the  record  of  her  life  tells  a  fearful  story.  It 
may  be  that  her  hand  is  stained  with  blood." 

"  No  I  "  exclaimed  my  wife,  repelling  the  sug 
gestion.  But  I  saw  the  color  fade  from  her  cheeks. 

"We  cannot  say  yea,  nor  nay.  Where  there  is 
mystery  we  are  in  the  dark,"  said  I.  "  Or,  she  may 
have  been  guilty  of  a  crime  that  excludes  her  from 
virtuous  society." 

"I  will  not  believe  it !" 

"  For  the  sake  of  argument,  I  will  assume  it,"  I 
continued.  "  She  has  been  guiltjr  of  a  crime,  and 
her  family,  seeking  to  veil  her  own  and  their  dis 
grace,  have  withdrawn  from  the  old  social  circles, 
and  come  to  our  city  and  neighborhood  to  hide 
themselves  from  obseryation.  Take  this  for  grant 
ed,  and  would  you  call  upon  the  lady  ?  " 

My  wife  was  silent. 

"  Would  you  call  ?  " 

I  pressed  the  question,  and  got  a  woman's 
answer. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  syllable  of  what  you  infer." 


OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 


CHAPTEE   II. 

ANYTHING  new  touching  the  cor 
ner  house?"  said  I,  half  laugh 
ing,  half  in  earnest,  on  the  even 
ing  of  the  next  day.  I  will  con 
fess  that  my  curiosity  was  not, 
altogether  a  passive  element. 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  wife,  "  I  have  learned 
the  name  of  its  new  occupants." 

"  Ah !  so  much  gained.     What  is  it  ?  " 
a  Congreve." 
"  Not  Jones,  Smith,  or  Brown  ;  but  a  name  that 
suggests  individuality  of  character,  and  an  ances 
try — good  or  bad.     I  am  gratified  to  know  that  it 
isn't  Smith  or  Jones." 

"  It  is  Congreve,"  said  my  wife,  in  a  tone  meant 
to  rebuke  my  levity. 

"How  did  you  learn  this?  " 
"  Jane  learned  it  from  the  grocer's  boy." 
"  Perhaps  the  name  is  assumed,"  said  I. 
"Incorrigible  man!     What  demon  of  suspicion 
has  got  access  to  your  ear  ?  " 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  13 

"  We  know  nothing  about  this  family,  Alice. 
They  glide  in  among  us  unheralded,  and  throw 
around  themselves  a  veil  of  mystery " 

I  was  going  on  quite  earnestly,  but  she  stopped 
me  by  saying  : 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  they  have  shown  any  mys 
tery.  We  have  made  a  mystery  of  their  advent. 
That  is  all.  ISTo  obligation  rested  on  them  as 
strangers  to  advertise  the  neighborhood  as  to  who 
they  were,  or  whence  they  came." 

"  Very  true.  I  stand  corrected.  And  so  the 
name  is  Congreve  ?  Did  you  learn  anything  be 
yond  this?  " 

"  The  grocer's  boy  said  they  were  from  the 
South." 

"The  land  of  hot  blood  and  quick-springing 
passion." 

"  There  is  hot  blood  and  quick-springing  pas 
sion  everywhere,"  remarked  Alice. 

"  True,"  said  I. 

"  Then  why  speak  of  them  in  connexion  with 
our  new  neighbors  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Thought  clothes  itself  in  speech,  you  know." 

"But  why  should  your  thought  take  this  direc 
tion  ?  " 

"  Thought  is  a  free  rover.  "We  cannot  control 
its  movements." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  my  wife,  "  I  see  how  it  is. 
Your  impressions  are  against  our  friends  in  the  cor- 


14  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

ner  house,  and  your  thought  runs  in  the  same  di 
rection.  As  for  me,  I  am  going  to  infer  good 
instead  of  evil." 

"  And  make  them  a  neighborly  call?  " 

"  Yes." 

At  this  moment  our  bell  was  jerked  violently. 
We  both  started,  and  then  listened,  while  the  ser 
vant  went  to  the  door.  As  it  opened,  we  heard  a 
woman's  voice.  It  was  quick  and  excited.  Then 
rapid  feet  came  along  the  passage  and  up  the  stairs. 

"  Won't  you  go  into  the  corner  house,  ma'am  ?  " 
said  Jane,  pushing  open  the  door  of  our  sitting- 
room. 

"  Into  the  corner  house !  Why  should  I  go  in 
there,  Jane  ?  " 

"  You're  wanted,  ma'am.  Something  has  hap 
pened;  and  the  girl  says  please  won't  you  come 
in." 

My  wife  looked  at  me  in  doubt. 

"Go,  Alice,"  said  I. 

She  needed  only  a  word  of  assent.  There  was 
a  moment  or  two  of  feminine  adjustment  of  hair 
and  dress,  and  a  glance  into  the  mirror.  Then 
snatching  up  a  netted  hood,  my  wife  glided  away. 
It  was  an  hour  before  she  returned.  Her  counte 
nance  was  sober,  and  did  not  even  light  up  with 
its  wonted  smile  as  she  greeted  me. 

"  Such  a  scene  as  I  have  witnessed  !  "  she  said, 
as  she  threw  off  her  hood  and  sat  down  beside  me. 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  15 

I  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  but  did  not  speak. 
She  drew  a  long,  deep  breath,  and  then  went  on : 

"  The  child  you  saw  at  the  window — a  little  sun 
beam,  truly ! — was  suddenly  taken  with  convul 
sions.  In  the  wild  alarm  that  followed,  a  servant 
ran  for  some  neighbor,  and  I  happened  to  be  the 
one  summoned.  I  found  her  mother,  the  pale 
lady  in  black,  sitting  helpless,  wringing  her  hands 
and  uttering  wild  cries  of  terror  ;  while  the  other 
and  elder  lady,  whom  I  had  seen  alight  with  her 
from  the  carriage,  was  standing  over  the  convulsed 
form  of  the  child  in*  distress  and  bewilderment. 

"  '  Oh,  ma'am,'  she  said,  eagerly,  as  I  came  in, 
1  where  shall  we  send  for  a  doctor  ?  Is  there  one 
near  at  hand  ?  ' 

"  I  turned  to  the  servant  who  had  come  up 
stairs  with  me,  and  gave  her  the  direction  of  our 
own  physician.  As  she  hurried  from  the  room,  I 
bent  over  the  child.  (  She  is  in  spasms,'  said  I. 

"  '  She  will  die  !  she  will  die !  Oh,  can  nothing 
be  done  to  .save  my  darling?  '  wailed  the  mother, 
in  tones  that  thrilled  you,  they  were  so  full  of  an 
guish. 

"  *  Bring  a  tub  of  hot  water,  quickly,'  said  I, 
to  a  domestic  who  was  in  the  chamber. 

"  {  A  tubful,  ma'am  ?  '  she  inquired. 

"  '  Fall  enough  for  a  bath,'  I  answered.  And 
she  left  the  room  immediately. 

"  By  the  time  the  servant  returned,  I  had  the 


16  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

still  convulsed  form  of  the  child  ready  for  the 
bath,  and  lifting  it  in  my  arms,  kid  it  tenderly  in 
the  water.  How  painful  it  was  to  feel  the  round 
soft  limbs  writhing  and  twitching,  and  to  see 
spasm  after  spasm  run  over  the  sweet  face  of  that 
little  one.  I  held  her  in  the  water  for  more  than 
ten  minutes,  and  then  laid  her  in  the  bed  again. 
The  more  violent  muscular  contractions  had  by 
this  time  subsided,  and  there  was  some  repose  in 
her  face.  When  Doctor  Black  arrived,  she  was 
still  unconscious  and  in  convulsions ;  but  the  worst 
symptoms  had  abated.  He  sat  down  by  the  bed 
side  in  his  quiet  way,  and  after  a  few  questions, 
and  a  few  moments  of  observation,  took  out  his 
pocket-case  of  remedies,  and  selecting  a  little 
bottle,  dropped  from  it,  between  the  lips  of  the 
child,  a  few  of  the  white  pellets  it  contained. 

"  Soon  after  I  commenced  bathing  the  little  suf 
ferer,  her  mother  gained  some  control  over  her 
feelings,  and,  coming  forward,  asked  in  a  queru 
lous  way  what  I  was  doing.  c  The  best  that  can 
be  done  until  the  doctor  arrives,'  I  answered.  She 
did  not  seem  entirely  satisfied ;  though  the  elder 
lady — her  mother,  I  think — assured  her  that  a  hot 
bath  was  the  right  treatment  for  a  child  in  spasms. 
'  Hasn't  she  been  in  long  enough  ?  Do  take  her 
out,  won't  you  ?  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear !  she'll  die ! 
Why  don't  the  doctor  come?  '  Queries  and  ejacu 
lations  like  these  were  dropping  constantly  from 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  1 

her  lips.  When  the  doctor  came  in,  her  dark  eyes 
fell  on  him  with  a  glance  of  inquiry.  He  is  a 
quiet,  unobtrusive  man,  you  know,  and  I  under 
stood  in  a  moment  that  he  did  not  impress  her 
favorably.  When  he  took  out  his  case  of  medi 
cines,  and  she  saw  the  rows  of  little  vials,  she  made 
a  movement  as  if  about  entering  a  protest.  But  a 
hand  was  laid  on  her  by  the  elder  lady.  The 
administration  of  a  remedy  was  more  than  she 
could  bear,  and  she  broke  out  with  an  imperative — 

"  '  I  won't  have  my  child  doctored  in  that 
way  I' 

"  Doctor  Black  arose  and  stepped  a  pace  from 
the  bedside.  He  was  more  disturbed  than  I  had 
ever  seen  him. 

" '  It  is  my  way,  madam,'  said  he,  with  some 
dignity  and  some  indignation,  *  and  if  you  don't 
wish  me  to  treat  your  child,  I  can  retire.' 

"  '  We  do  wish  you  to  treat  her,'  spoke  out  the 
elder.  Then  turning  to  the  other,  she  said,  in  a 
firm,  decisive  manner :  *  Edith,  be  quiet ! ' 

"  *  You  have  been  sent  for,  Doctor,'  I  now  inter 
posed,  '  and  you  must  not  go  without  relieving  the 
poor  child  of  these  dreadful  spasms.' 

"  Doctor  Black  then  resumed  his  place  at  the 
bedside,  and  taking  the  child's  hand  in  his,  laid 
his  finger  on  the  pulse,  and  sat  noting  its  time  and 
condition.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  he  gave 
another  remedy.  This  was  the  signal  for  a  second 


18  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

protest  from  the  pale  lady  in  black,  who  muttered, 
in  a  half-subdued  way,  her  objection.  I  noted  a 
strange  gleam  in  her  eyes  as  she  fixed  them  on  the 
doctor,  and  felt  a  low,  unpleasant  thrill  pass  along 
my  nerves. 

/'No  notice  was  taken  of  her,  and  the  doctor 
gave  up  his  entire  thought  to  the  little  sufferer. 
The  worst  symptoms  were  now  subsiding.  The 
spasms  occurred  at  longer  and  longer  intervals, 
were  of  briefer  duration,  and  less  severe.  After 
the  lapse  of  ten  minutes  more,  another  remedy 
was  given.  The  doctor  observed  its  action  for  a 
little  while,  and  then  rising,  said : 

"  *  She  is  coming  right,  and  will  soon  be  as  still 
as.  a  quiet  sleeper.' 

"  Then  preparing  two  powders,  he  directed  them 
to  be  dissolved  each  in  a  third  of  a  glass  of  water, 
and  a  teaspoonful  given,  alternately,  every  half 
hour. 

"  He  lingered  yet  for  some  minutes  longer.  His 
prediction  came  true.  By  this  time  every  con 
vulsed  muscle  had  found  tranquillity,  and  the  face 
of  the  little  one  began  to  glow  with  warmth  and 
beauty.  Then  the  eyes  unclosed,  and  the  sweet 
lips,  moving,  pronounced  the  name  of  '  mother.' 
A  scene  of  wild  excitement  followed,  which  came 
near  throwing  the  patient  into  convulsions  again. 
The  undisciplined  mother  flung  herself  upon  the 
bed,  and  in  a  strong  burst  of  feeling,  hugged  the 


THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  19 

child  to  her  bosom,  and  poured  forth  a  torrent  of 
fond  words  and  a  rain  of  tears. 

"  '  Madam,  for  Heaven's  sake,  control  yourself! ' 
said  Doctor  Black.  '  You  will  mar  everything  if 
you  do  not.' 

"  '  Edith  ! '  the  other  lady  spoke  almost  sternly, 
1  do  you  wish  to  kill  your  child  ? ' 

"  With  a  rebuked  look,  the  mother  disengaged 
her  arms,  and  drew  back,  glancing  from  one  face 
to  another  in  a  way  that  struck  me  as  singular. 

"  *  Give  the  medicines  regularly,  according  to 
direction,  and  let  nothing  disturb  our  little  patient,' 
said  the  doctor,  as  he  moved  towards  the  door.  *  I 
will  look  in  to-morrow  morning,  when  I  hope  to 
find  her  quite  well.' 

"  '  He  is  a  Homoeopathic  physician  ?  '  remarked 
the  elder  lady,  as  Doctor  Black  left  the  room.  She 
looked  at  me  steadily  from  her  calm,  brown  eyes. 

"  I  merely  bowed  an  assent. 

"  *  I  have  been  taught  to  regard  that  system  of 
medicine  as  involving  absurdities  of  the  grossest 
kind,'  she  continued. 

"  '  Its  professional  opponents,'  I  replied,  l  are 
not  sparing  in  their  denunciations.  It  is  much  to 
be  regretted,  however,  for  the  sake  of  truth  and 
science,  that  its  imposing  claims  are  not  met  by 
something  better  than  denunciation  and  ridicule'. 
You  saw  to-night  with  what  singular  rapidity  the 
spasms  subsided,  after  the  administration  of  reme- 


20  OUK   NEIGHBORS   IN 

dies  that,  to  all  appearance,  had  in  them  no  potency 
whatever.  Was  it  magic  or  medicine  that  wrought 
the  salutary  change  ?  ' 

"  *  I  am  not  prepared  to  answer  your  query/ 
said  the  lady,  with  gentle  dignity  of  manner. 
*  Our  darling  is  better  ;  and  for  this  we  cannot  be 
thankful  enough.  It  is  God  who  cures — man  is 
only  his  instrument.' 

"  '  To  that  sentiment  do  I,  with  all  my  heart, 
respond,'  fell  with  earnestness  from  my  lips.  'Ev 
ery  good  gift  is  from  God,  and  among  these  is  the 
gift  of  healing.' 

"  As  we  talked  thus,  I  noticed  that  the  child 
was  falling  away  into  sleep.  The  mother  ob 
served  it  also,  for  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  little 
invalid's  face.  A  shade  of  anxiety  passed  over 
her  countenance,  and  she  moved  uneasily.  'Aunt 
Mary,'  she  said — I  now  understood  the  relation 
existing  between  them  —  speaking  in  a  husky 
whisper,  and  looking  anxiously  at  the  elder 
lady. 

"  *  What,  dear  ? '  And  the  aunt  leaned  towards 
her. 

"  *  She's  going  to  sleep  ! ' 

"  '  So  much  the  better,'  was  replied.  '  There  is 
more  medicine  in  sleep  than  in  any  doctor's  pre 
scription.' 

" '  But,  aunt,'— she  leaned  closer,  as  if  to  pre 
vent  my  hearing  what  she  said — 'maybe  he's 


THE   COENER   HOUSE.  21 

given  her  an  anodyne.'  The  words  reached  my 
ears,  for  the  whisper  was  distinct. 

"  '  Oh,  no  I '  was  replied. 

" '  But,  I'm  sure  they  have/  she  persisted. 
*  You  know  their  medicines  are  very  powerful.' 

"  '  Don't  be  in  the  least  concerned,  madam,'  said 
I.  '  They  never  give  anodynes ;  and  their  medi 
cines  are  not  powerful  in  the  way  you  sup 
pose." 

" '  But  Doctor  Jacoby  told  me  that  they  were 
powerful,  ma'am ;  that  these  Homceopathists,  while 
pretending  to  give  no  medicines  at  all,  actually 
gave  more  medicines,  because  in  a  highly  concen 
trated  form,  than  any  other  physicians  living.' 

"  *  If  Doctor  Jacoby,'  said  I,  warming  a  little, 
'made  that  assertion,  he  was  disgracefully  igno 
rant,  or  something  worse.' 

"  '  He  ought  to  know,'  said  the  lady. 

"  '  But  ^it  seems  that  he  don't  know ;  or,  if 
knowing,  is  not  veracious.  Pardon  my  free  speech, 
ma'am;  but  I  must  defend  the  right  against  all 
unfair  assailants.  Homoeopathy  can  bear  to  have 
the  truth  alleged ;  and  it  is  to  the  disgrace  of  its 
professional  opposers  that  so  many  of  them  make 
false  assertions  in  regard  to  its  claims.' 

"My  earnestness  did  not  call  out  any  further 
remark.  The  elder  of  the  ladies  looked  at  me 
calmly,  while  I  spoke ;  and  I  could  not  tell,  by 
any  play  of  her  features,  whether  she  took  interest 


22  OTTB   NEIGHBORS    IN 

in  what  I  said,  or  had  any  faith  in  my  strong  as 
sertions.  As  the  child  was  now  sleeping,  I  felt 
that  to  remain  longer  might  be  an  intrusion,  and 
so  made  a  motion  to  retire.  It  was  not  opposed. 
Thanks  for  the  service  I  had  rendered  were  ex 
pressed  with  warmth  and  sincerity,  particularly  by 
the  aunt,  who  held  my  hand  tighter  in  hers  for  a 
moment,  and  looked  at  me  with  a  world  of  hidden 
meaning  in  her  face.  But  I  was  not  asked  to 
repeat  my  visit." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  as  my  wife  finished  her  story  of 
the  evening's  adventure,  "  you  have  penetrated 
the  outer  court  of  this  mystery." 

"  Mystery !     What  mystery  ?  " 

"Every  individual  life  is  a  mystery.  Every 
household  includes  some  mystery.  And  there  are 
secrets  of  the  heart  known  only  to  God." 

"True,"  answered  my  wife.  "And  in  that 
sense  we  are  a  mystery  to  our  neighbors." 

"Doubtless  we  are,"  said  I.  "  Doubtless  there 
have  been  questions  asked  about  us  many  times 
which  none  answered  satisfactorily,  and  which  still 
remain  as  unsolved  problems.  There  is  a  pene 
tralia  in  every  family." 

"  The  corner  house  includes  a  mystery  in  this 
view  of  the  case,"  replied  my  wife. 

"  And,  as  I  said,  you  have  passed  the  outer 
court,  and  entered  the  vestibule." 

"  But  did  not  reach  the  penetralia." 


THE    CORXER   HOUSE.  23 

"  What  was  the  cause  of  convulsions  in  the 
child?"  I  asked. 

"  The  cause  was  not  stated.  Doctor  Black 
made  some  inquiries,  but  was  answered  with 
such  evident  evasion  that  he  did  not  press  the 
questions." 

"  That  looks  singular,  to  say  the  least  of  it,"  I 
remarked. 

"  It  does.  I  felt  all  the  while  I  was  there  as  if 
something  lay  back  of  the  condition  in  which  I 
found  the  child,  that  did  not  and  would  not  appear. 
No  fall,  sickness,  over-eating,  or  fright,  was  even 
hinted  at  in  explanation.  There  was  a  blank 
silence  as  to  the  cause." 

"  Where  there  is  mystery  like  this,  something 
wrong  is  evidently  involved,"  said  I. 

"There  is  nothing  wrong  s<^far  as  the  elder 
lady — Aunt  Mary,  as  she  was  called — is  concerned. 
You  have  only  to  look  into  her  face  to  be  assured 
of  that.  But  tbere  is  something  wrong  in  regard 
to  the  younger,  who,  pallid  'and  ghastly  as  she 
appears,  is  yet  singularly  beautiful." 

"  Hers  is  a  kind  of  weird  beauty,  I  should  say, 
judging  from  the  partial  glance  I  had  of  her  face." 

"You  express  the  thing  exactly,"  answered  my 
wife.  "  It  is  a  weird,  and  I  should  think,  under 
some  aspects,  a  fascinating  beauty.  The  contrast 
between  her  and  her  aunt  is  remarkable.  They 
are  not,  I  should  say,  akin  by  blood." 


24  OUR  NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  You  saw  no  male  member  of  the  family?  " 
"  None  ;  but  I  am  sure  that  I  heard  more  than 
once,  the  sudden  footfall  of  a  man  in  the  room 
above." 
"  Ah !  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  felt  the  more  certain  of  this>  from 
the  fact,  that  the  sound  appeared  to  disturb  Edith, 
as  the  sick  child's  mother  was  called.  It  came 
once  when  she  was  objecting  to  the  treatment  of 
Dr.  Black,  and  I  noticed  that  she  halted  for  a 
moment  in  her  words,  and  that  a  shadow  flitted 
over  her  face." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "the  plot  thickens,  doesn't  it?  " 
"  We   are  to  have   a  romance  in   the  corner 
house,"  returned  my  wife,  smiling,  "  if  the  present 
signs  mean  anything."  « 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  25 


CHAPTER  III. 

0  you  know  anything  about  these 
people  in  the  corner  house  ?  " 
asked  our  neighbor,  Mrs.  Wil- 
kins,  who  had  run  in  to  chat 
with  my  wife  an  evening  or  two 
afterwards. 

Alice  said  "  No,"  and  then  asked  Mrs. 
Wilkins  what  she  knew  of  them. 

"  I  don't  know  anything,"  replied  our 
neighbor ;  "  but  there  are  some  queer  sto 
ries  floating  around." 
"Indeed?" 
"  Yes." 

"  What  is  said  of  them  ?  "  ' 
"  Nothing  outright,  that  I  have  heard,  for  people 
don't  seem  to  know  anything  certain  in  regard  to 
them." 

"  The  queer  stories,"  said  I,  "  are  then  mostly 
in  the  shape  of  conjecture  and  inference." 

"  There's  something  hidden  about  them,"  replied 
2 


26  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

Mrs.  Wilkins;  "  and  anything  like  mystery,  you 
know,  sets  people  all  agog  to  find  out  what  is  con 
cealed." 

"  And  when  a  whole  neighborhood  is  on  the 
alert  and  curious,"  I  remarked,  "  it  will  go  hard  if 
something  is  not  discovered.  But  get  a  little 
nearer  to  terra  firma — what  is  said  about  the 
people  in  the  corner  house  ?  " 

"  "Well,  now,  let  me  see  !  What  is  said?  Oh,  yes  ? 
Mrs.  Crowell  says  that,  night  before  last,  as  her 
husband  was  coming  by  the  corner  house,  about 
twelve  o'clock,  he  heard  a  cry  so  sudden,  wild,  and 
startling,  that  it  chilled  for  a  moment  the  blood  in 
his  veins.  It  was  a  woman's  cry,  and  he  is  certain 
it  came  from  that  house.  There  were  no  lights 
shining  from  any  of  the  windows,  and  he  could 
hear  no  movement  within.  Then,  the  grocer-boy 
told  our  girl  that  they  were  the  queerest  people 
in  the  corner  house  he  had  ever  seen,  and  that  he 
believed  there  was  something  wrong." 

"  The  grocer  boy's  opinion  should  not  be  taken 
in  evidence  against  them,"  said  I. 

u  Of  course  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilkins ;  "  but 
your  grocer-boys,  milkmen,  and  all  that  class  of 
people,  are  sharp-sighted  and  quick  at  reading 
signs.  Their  opinion  of  a  family  is  not  usually 
very  far  out  of  the  way." 

"  And  so  the  grocer-boy  thinks  there  is  some 
thing  wrong  ?  " 


THE    COENEE    HOUSE.  27 

"Yes;  and  he  isn't  alone  in  this  opinion.  It 
seems  to  be  the  common  sentiment." 

"  That  is  the  way  of  the  world,"  said  I ;  "  some 
thing  wrong  is  the  first  inference  in  all  cases  where 
people  choose  to  hold  themselves  a  little  in  re 
serve." 

"  People  can't  help  their  own  inferences,"  replied 
Mrs.  Wilkins. 

"You  mean,"  I  answered,  "that,  as  most  peo 
ple  take  a  secret  pleasure  in  hearing  ill  of  their 
neighbors,  when  left  to  conjecture  anything,  they 
are  very  apt  to  let  their  conclusions  favor  the 
worst." 

"  Excuse  me,"  Mrs.  Wilkins  replied,  "  but  I  will 
not  admit  your  assertion  that  most  people  take 
a  secret  pleasure  in  hearing  ill  of  their  neigh 
bors." 

"  It  seems,"  said  my  wife,  smiling,  "  that  your 
own  case  proves  your  theory." 

"  My  case !  How  ?  "  I  .asked. 

"  Don't  think  me  severe,  but  are  you  not  judg 
ing  very  harshly  of  other  people  ?  As  to  the  de 
gree  of  pleasure  you  may  feel  in  this  judgment, 
it  is  not  of  course  for  me  to  speak." 

"  Fairly  retorted !  "  laughed  our  neighbor. 

"  The  homely  old  adage  about  measuring  other 
people's  corn  by  our  own  bushel,  is  pleasantly 
illustrated  in  your  case.  Is  it  from  the  secret 
gratification  you  experience  when  ill  is  told  of  a 


28  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

neighbor,    that    you  form    your    estimation   of 
others  ?  " 

Mrs  Wilkins  grew  quite  animated.  Her  eyes 
sparkled. 

"  There  may  be  something  in  the  suggestion," 
I  said.  "  Human  nature  is  sadly  depraved.  Even 
you  have  brightened  up  wonderfully,  in  making 
the  supposed  discovery  that  I  am  quite  as  bad  as 
I  make  out  my  neighbors  to  be." 

"  Come,  come  !  "  was  replied  ;  "  This  is  fighting 
at  too  little  advantage  on  either  side.  We  shall 
both  get  damaged,  I  fear.  It  is  far  safer  to  lie  in 
ambuscade,  and  shoot  our  arrows  without  the 
danger  of  retaliation." 

"We  were  sitting  in  our  parlor.  I  had  noticed  a 
faint  ringing  of  the  street  door  bell,  and  heard  the 
servant  pass  along  the  hall.  There  was  a  question 
from  a  woman's  voice;  a  rustle  of  garments;  a 
light  step — so  light  that  the  ear  scarcely  noted  the 
sound.  We  glanced  to»  the  parlor  door  expect 
antly,  and  the  white  face  of  our  neighbor  in  the 
corner  house  looked  in  strangely  upon  us. 

"  Mrs.  Congreve  !  "  said  my  wife,  starting  quick 
ly  forward,  and  taking  the  hand  of  our  unexpect 
ed  visitor.  She  advanced,  with  a  hesitating  step, 
across  the  room,  Alice  leading  her  towards  Mrs. 
Wilkins  and  myself.  I  arose,  and  with  all  the 
blandness  of  manner  I  could  assume,  gave  her  a 
welcome  to  our  house.  But  she  was  not  at  ease  ; 


THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  29 

and  glanced,  in  a  furtive  way,  now  at  me,  and 
now  at  Mrs.  Wilkins — at  the  same  time  that  she 
drew  close  to  my  wife,  beside  whom  she  sat  down 
on  a  sofa.  Her  dress  was  black  in  every  part; 
and  this  gave  to  her  colorless  face  and  hands  a 
ghostly  whiteness.  About  her  lips,  on  which 
rested  an  expression  of  unutterable  sadness,  there 
was  a  slight,  but  constant  motion ;  and  her  eyes, 
that  were  large  and  round,  were  as  restless  as  her 
lips.  I  saw  in  a  few  moments,  that  she  had  not 
expected  to  see  any  one  but  my  wife,  and  that 
the  presence  of  both  Mrs.  Wilkins  and  myself 
was  a  source  of  embarrassment.  Mrs.  Wilkins  also 
saw  this,  and  with  a  self-denying  thoughtfulness 
very  creditable  under  the  circumstances,  when  a 
woman's  proverbial  curiosity  is  taken  into  account, 
excused  herself,  and  went  home.  I  was  then 
about  to  retire  from  the  parlor,  but  my  curiosity 
tempted  me  to  remain  a  little  longer ;  and  as  the 
lady  seemed  to  be  now  more  at  ease,  I  resumed 
the  chair  from  which  I  had  arisen  on  the  departure 
of  our  neighbor. 

"  How  is  the  little  one  ?  "  now  asked  my  wife. 

"  Florry  ?  oh,  she's  well  again." 

What  a  mournful  voice  it  was !  From  what 
far-off  places  in  the  mind  did  its  low,  sad  echoes, 
come  back ! 

"  Was  she  ever  in  that  way  before  ?  "  asked 
my  wife. 


30  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  No  ;  but  wasn't  it  dreadful !  "  And  I  could 
ee  that  the  remembrance  caused  a  low  shudder  to 
creep  through  her  nerves. 

"  She  may  have  eaten  something  that  was  not 
readily  digestible,"  said  I. 

The  large,  strange  eyes  looked  into  mine  for  a 
moment  or  two  ;  but  there  was  no  response  to  the 
suggestion. 

"  I  have  noticed,  several  times,  the  face  of  your 
little  Florry  at  the  window,"  I  remarked.  "It 
is  a  very  sweet  face." 

Something  meant  to  be  a  smile  played  over  the 
dead  blank  of  her  countenance  as  I  said  this ;  but 
she  did  not  reply.  Ill  at  ease  she  was.  I  saw  this 
plainly  enough.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  come 
in  to  see  my  wife  alone ;  so,  after  one  more  fruitless 
effort  to  get  her  interested,  I  excused  myself  and 
left  the  room.  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  my  depar 
ture  was  wholly  agreeable  to  our  visitor.  But, 
scarcely  had  I  reached  the  family  sitting-room, 
when  a  loud  jangling  of  the  door-bell  startled  me. 
I  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  listened. 

"Is  Mrs.  Congreve  here?"  I  heard,  in  a 
woman's  voice,  followed  by  the  exclamation  ? 
"  Why,  Edith  !  How  could  you  do  so?  " 

A  few  low  words  followed,  and  then  the  street 
door  shut,  and  my  wife  stood  alone  in  the  hall.  I 
went  down  to  her  quickly. 

"  Who  came  for  her?  "  I  asked. 


THE   COKNER   HOUSE.  31 

"  Her  aunt." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  Nothing  beyond  an  exclamation  of  surprise 
and  relief.  But  she  looked  pale  and  frightened." 

"  More  mystery,"  said  I.  "  What  can  lie  at  the 
bottom  of  all  this  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Congreve  is  not  in  her  right  mind ;  of 
that,  I  think  there  is  little  doubt." 

"But  what  has  disturbed  the  even  balance  of 
her  intellect  ?  I  would  give  something  to  know." 

"Women  are  proverbially  curious,"  said  my 
wife,  in  a  meaning  way. 

"  You  forming  an  exception  in  this  case,"  I  re 
torted. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  answered,  quietly ;  then 
added,  "  Insanity,  you  are  aware,  runs  in  some 
families.  It  may  be  hereditary  in  the  case  of  Mrs. 
Congreve." 

"  Yes,  it  may  be." 

"  Though  you  doubt  it." 

"You  indicate  my  state  of  mind." 

"  On  what  do  you  base  a  doubt  ?  " 

I  had  nothing  tangible  to  set  forth,  and  so  only 
shook  my  head. 

"  Did  she  say  anything  after  I  left  the  room  ?  " 
I  inquired. 

"  She  was  about  making  some  communication," 
replied  my  wife,  "  when  the  appearance  of  her 
aunt  checked  the  words  on  her  lips.  She  listened 


32  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

to  your  departing  steps  with  almost  anxious  in- 
tentness,  and  as  soon  as  you  were  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  turned  to  me,  every  muscle  of  her  face 
quivering  with  interest,  and  her  lips  apart  to  speak. 
But  she  started  as  the  bell  rang,  and  a  shade  of 
fear  went  over  her  face,  when  the  voice  of  her 
aunt  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"  'I  must  go,'  she  said,  rising  with  a  disturbed 
manner.  And  I  heard  her  murmur  to  herself: 
'They  watch  me  as  if  I  were  a  criminal  trying 
to  escape  ! '  " 

"  If  her  aunt  had  only  kept  away  a  little  long 
er,"  said  I,  "  we  might  have  obtained  the  clue  to 
this  mystery." 

"  Which  you  are  dying  to  penetrate." 

"  No,  not  in  that  extremity.     But " 

"  Suffering  from  a  tantalizing  curiosity.  I  did 
not  expect  this  of  you.  But,  there  is  the  bell 
again.  What  next." 

It  was  only  Mrs.  Wilkins.  She  had  watched 
from  her  window  opposite,  and  seeing  Mrs.  Con- 
greve  depart,  came  over  to  hear  what  she  could. 
We  had  nothing  satisfactory  to  communicate,  to 
her  evident  disappointment.  j 

11  It's  my  husband's  opinion,"  she  said,  as  she 
sat,  talking  on  the  subject,  "  that  there  is  some 
thing  about  these  people  that  will  startle  the  neigh 
borhood  when  it  comes  out — if  it  ever  does.  There 
is  not  a  good  look  about  Mr.  Congreve.  Mr. 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  33 

Wilkins  says  that  he  has  met  him  several  times  in 
the  neighborhood  or  coming  out  of  his  house;  but 
has  not  once  been  able  to  catch  his  eye.  It's  his 
opinion  that  Congreve  is  not  his  real  name." 

"  What  has  suggested  this  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  she  replied.  "  A  merchant 
from  the  south-west  was  in  his  store  one  day  this 
week,  when  Mr.  Congreve  happened  to  pass.  The 
man  started  as  he  saw  him,  and  half  uttered,  in  a 
tone  of  surprise,  some  name  different  from  Con 
greve. 

"  '  Do  you  know  that  person?  '  asked  my  hus 
band.  The  man  answered,  '  I  presume  not.  It  is 
only  a  striking  resemblance.' 

"  *  His  name  is  Congreve,'  said  Mr.  Wilkins. 
'He  is  a  stranger  in  our  city,  from  the  south,  I 
think.' 

"  The  man  repeated  the  words  '  from  the  South,' 
as  if  struck  by  them ;  but  added ;  '  I  don't  know 
him,'  and  changed  the  subject." 

"  Singular,"  I  remarked. 

"Isn't  it?  My  husband  thinks  the  man  knew 
him,  and  had  motives  for  concealing  the  know 
ledge." 

"  Possibly.     It  looks  as  if  it  might  be  so." 

"More  mystery,"  said  my  wife,  smiling. 

"  And  this  may  be  the  clue.  Did  your  husband 
say  from  what  town  in  the  south-west  the  mer 
chant  came  ?  " 

2* 


34  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"He  did  not." 

"  Of  course  he  knows." 

"  Without  doubt,  as  the  man  was  a  customer." 

"  Any  circumstance  that  would  make  a  family 
exile  itself  from  an  old  home  or  familiar  neighbor 
hood,  would  in  all  probability  become  a  matter  of 
public  notoriety.  Another  customer  from  the 
same  town  may  be  able  to  throw  light  on  the 
whole  subject.  Suggest  this  to  Mr.  Wilkins." 

"  You  are  right.  I'll  do  that,"  replied  our  neigh 
bor,  with  animation.  "  It  will  be  strange,  if  we 
don't  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  mystery  before 
long." 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE. 


35 


CHAPTER  IV. 


'HE  shutters  of  the  corner  house 
were  bowed  from  parlor  to  third 
story,  as  I  passed  on  the  next 
morning ;  bowed  when  I  came 
home  at  dinner-time ;  and  bowed 
at  evening  twilight.     My  ques 
tion  :     "  Anything   more   from  the  Con- 
greves?"  was  answered  by  a  quiet  shake 
of  the  head. 

On  the  next  day,  the  house  gave  no 
more  intelligible  sign  ;  and  no  more  on  the  next. 

In  the  evening,  Mrs.  Wilkins  came  in.  I  saw, 
the  moment  she  entered,  that  she  had  something  to 
communicate.  After  sitting  for  a  little  while,  she 
said: 

"My  husband  had  another  customer  in  from 

!N" ,  to-day,  and  it  occurred  to  him  to  ask  if 

there  had  been  any  strange  or  startling  event  in 
his  town,  recently,  or  within  a  year  or  two.  The 
man  didn't  remember  that  there  had  been  any 
unusual  occurrence,  when  first  questioned;  but 


36  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

afterwards  told  Mr.  Wilkins  a  sad  story  about  the 
young  wife  of  a  planter,  who  had  become  infatu 
ated  with  an  Englishman.  The  husband's  sus 
picions  becoming  aroused,  he  watched  £hem  with 
untiring  jealousy ;  and,  at  last,  discovering  what 
he  regarded  as  proofs  of  guilt,  shot  the  lover  in 
the  presence  of  his  horror-stricken  wife.  The 
planter  was  arrested,  tried  for  the  murder,  and 
acquitted.  Immediately,  he  sold  his  estates  and 
left  the  neighborhood  with  his  family.  The 
wretched  woman  who  had  caused  this  fearful  dis 
aster  lost  her  reason,  and  was  sent,  he  thinks,  to 
one  of  our  northern  asylums.  The  event  caused 
great  excitement  at  the  time." 

"Did  your  husband  ask  the  name  of  the 
family  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes ;  and  it  was  not  Congreve.  But,  for  all 
that,  I  think  they  are  in  our  neighborhood." 

"Have  you  any  ground,  beyond  mere  conjec 
ture,  for  this  belief?  " 

"Yes.  My  husband  described  Mr.  Congreve, 
and  the  Southerner  thought  he  must  be  the  man. 
He  had  not  seen  him  many  times ;  but  as  far  as 
he  could  remember  him,  the  identity  seemed 
clear." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  is  the  man,"  said  my  wife,  in 
a  tone  that  caused  me  to  turn  and  look  into  her 
(ace.  She  was  pale  and  agitated. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilkins.     "  That 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  37 

lady  in  the  corner  house  is  deranged.     You  have 
only  to  look  at  her  to  be  assured  of  this." 

"  Her  reason  may  be  unsettled ;  but  not  by 
guilt."  (My  wife  spoke  confidently.)  "  I  know 
a  pure  face  when  I  see  it — a  pure  face  that  reflects  a 
pure  mind — and  this  you  have  in  Mrs.  Congreve." 

"Oh!  as  to  that,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins.  "  her  hus 
band's  blind  jealousy  may  have  imagined  guilt 
where  none  existed.  But  she  must  have  been 
strangely  imprudent  for  a  pure  woman.  When  a 
wife  gives  countenance  to  a  lover,  innocence  dies 
in  her  heart.  Poor  child  that  she  was  ! — her 
beauty  bartered  for  gold ;  bartered  ere  the  girlish 
sweetness  of  tender  seventeen  had  put  on  a 
woman's  thought  and  feeling — no  wonder  that, 
when  her  heart's  true  impulses  came  into  vigorous 
life,  they  drew  her  aside  from  virtue." 

"  You  speak  confidently,"  I  remarked. 

"  The  story  that  my  husband  heard  recited  the 
case  as  I  give  it.  She  was  very  beautiful,  and 
gold  won  the  prize  that  many  strove  for  eagerly. 
The  rich  planter,  twice  her  age,  and  repulsive  in 
person  and  appearance  as  another  Bluebeard,  bore 
her  away  to  his  home  in  triumph.  But  the  3roung 
singing-bird  soon  lost  her  voice  in  the  gilded  cage 
and  narrow  apartments  that  now  imprisoned  her. 
The  happy-hearted  girl  changed  quickly  to  the 
sad-hearted  woman.  A  few  wretched  years  of  a 
false  life,  and  then  a  falser  life  began.  There  was 


38  OUR  NEIGHBORS   IN 

no  altar  in  her  heart  on  which  love's  pure  flame 
could  burn  ;  and  so  passion  built  a  place  on  which 
to  sacrifice  to  other  gods  than  those  which  preside 
over  domestic  peace.  Her  feet  got  bewildered  in 
strange  labyrinthine  paths ;  she  lost  her  way ! 
Unhappy  child-woman  !  We  pity  more  than  we 
blame." 

"Your  picture,  faintly  outlined  as  it  is,"  said  I, 
"  gives  me  a  shudder.  Whether  your  gold-bartered 
southern  child- woman  be  our  neighbor  or  not,  she 
is  a  burden-bearer,  whose  stooping  shoulders  let 
the  too  heavy  weight  of  remorse  or  anguish  of 
unblessed  love  fall  crushingly  upon  her  heart. 
Somewhere  she  sits  in  darkness — somewhere  suf 
fers — somewhere  looks  with  fear  into  the  black, 
hopeless  future.  Alas,  for  that  blindest,  that 
maddest  of  all  follies,  which  sacrifices  a  heart  on  the 
altar  of  mammon  !  Are  there  not  wrecks  enough 
for  warning  on  the  shores  of  every  sea  ?  " 

"It  would  seem  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilkins. 
Then  added,  following  my  own  thought:  "The 
maddest  of  all  follies  indeed!  The  heart  of  a 
woman,  that  loving  thing,  so  wonderfully  sensitive 
to  all  influences,  and  with  such  infinite  capacities 
for  joy  or  pain  ;  so  hard  to  indurate,  though  it  lie 
for  years  in  the  petrifying  waters  of  worldliness 
and  sin ;  so  tender  and  yielding  to  love,  so  pas- 
Bionate  in  revolt.  A  woman's  heart !  Oh,  with 
what  care  should  it  be  guarded  !  Yet,  how  is 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  39 

every  door  of  evil  influence  opened  upon  it !  It 
is  assailed  by  pride,  love  of  the  world,  wealth,  and 
all  "blinding  influences,  before  a  true  self-conscious 
ness  gives  token  of  its  own  inherent  wants,  capaci 
ties,  and  powers.  Alas !  that  this  knowledge 
comes  in  so  many  cases  too  late ;  that  bonds  which 
dare  not  be  broken,  have  fettered  it  ere  the  first 
yearnings  for  true  freedom  are  known.  And  of  all 
bonds,  these  golden  ones  usually  cut  deepest  into 
the  palpitating  flesh  ;  for  where  gold  is  the  power 
that  binds,  you  rarely  have  the  manly  qualities 
that  a  true  woman  must  recognise  ere  love  can 
spring  to  life  in  her  heart.  A  bought  slave  cannot 
be  held  by  affection  ;  she  will  feel  her  fetters,  no 
matter  how  costly  may  be  the  material,  and  seek 
to  trample  them  under  her  feet." 

Alice  had  remained  silent  since  her  simple  re 
jection  of  the  supposed  identity  of  Mrs.  Congreve 
and  the  southern  planter's  wife  referred  to  by  Mrs. 
Wilkins.  I  glanced  now  and  then  at  her  face, 
and  saw  that  it  retained  the  shadow  which  had 
suddenly  fallen  over  it. 

"  It  is  not  well,"  she  now  said,  in  a  voice  that 
was  unusually  sober,  "to  take  anything  for 
granted  in  a  case  involving  so  much  as  this.  Let 
us  not  prejudge  and  ill-judge  these  strangers  on 
no  better  evidence  than  yet  appears." 

"  The  presumptive  evidence  is  very  clear,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Wilkins. 


40  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IS 

"Not  to  my  mind,"  was  answered.  "Any 
other  set  of  circumstances  might  be  made  to  ap 
pear  just  as  conclusive  against  them.  I'm  afraid 
we  are  all  more  inclined  to  think  the  worst  instead 
of  the  best,  where  any  question  or  doubt  exists. 
The  rule  that  gives  to  a  prisoner  the  benefit  of  a 
doubt,  is  sensible  and  humane." 

Mrs.  Wilkins  had  gone  home,  and  my  wife  and 
I  still  talked  of  this  new  aspect  which  had  been 
given  to  the  case  of  our  neighbors  in  the  corner 
house,  when  a  servant  came  to  the  room  in  which 
we  were  sitting,  and  said,  in  a  hurried  way : 

"  The  girl  from  Congreve's  is  down  stairs,  and 
wants  to  see  you,  ma'am,  right  quick." 

My  wife  started  up  at  this  summons,  and  ran 
down  to  the  hall  in  which  the  girl  was  standing. 
I  heard  a  few  -  quick,  eagerly  spoken  words  pass 
between  them,  and  then  my  wife  called  to  me  in 
an  alarmed  tone  of  voice. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  as  a  few  long  strides 
brought  me  to-  the  foot  of  the  stairway. 

"We  are  both  wanted  in  at  the  corner."  And 
my  wife  grasped  my  arm  in  a  nervous  manner. 

"What  for?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Heaven  knows  !  But  get  your  hat  and  come 
quickly.  The  girl  looked  pale  with  fright." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  Gone !  She  flashed  out  as  if  half  beside  her 
self." 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  41 

I  caught  my  hat  from  the  rack,  and  hurried 
away  with  my  wife.  The  door  stood  partly  open, 
and  we  entered  the  corner  house  without  ringing 
for  admittance.  I  noticed,  as  my  eye  glanced  into 
the  parlors,  that  the  furniture  was  scanty,  rather 
than  in  profusion ;  and  plain  rather  than  elegant. 
The  woman,  whom  I  knew  only  as  Aunt  Mary, 
stood  a  few  steps  below  the  landing  on  the  stair 
way,  with  a  face  of  ashen  paleness. 

"  Here !  Quick !  quick  1  "  she  called,  as  soon  as 
we  entered. 

I  sprang  forward,  and  as  I  commenced  ascend 
ing  the  stairs,  she  turned  and  flew  up  the  next 
flight,  and  was  at  the  door  of  the  front  chamber 
when  I  reached  the  upper  landing. 

"Quick!" 

I  was  by  her  side  in  an  instant. 

"  She's  fastened  herself  in  with  Florry ;  and  I 
can't  get  a  word  from  her  or  hear  a  sound." 

I  understood,  from  the  white  terror  in  her  face, 
that  she  was  in  fear  of  the  worst  that  could  hap 
pen  ;  and  so  threw  myself  against  the  door  with 
considerable  force.  But  it  did  not  yield. 

"Edith I  Edith!"  called  Aunt  Mary,  in  wild 
fear. 

But,  though  we  listened,  holding  our  breaths, 
no  sound  came  from  within  that  deathly  silent 
room. 

Again  I  assaulted  the  door,  but  from  the  firm- 


42  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

ness  with  which  it  withstood  the  shock,  I  felt  sure 
that  it  was  bolted  as  well  as  locked. 

"Has  the  door  a  bolt?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  came  in  a  husky  whisper. 

"  Have  you  an  axe  ?  "     I  spoke  to  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Fly,  fly  for  it !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Mary,  throw 
ing  her  hands  forward  to  give  force  to  the  in 
junction.  Then  looking  into  my  face,  she  mur 
mured,  in  a  fluttering  voice,  "  She's  dead,  dead ! 
I'm  sure  of  it !  " 

"  Let  us  all  throw  ourselves  against  the  door  at 
once,"  I  suggested.  "It  may  yield." 

And  in  the  next  moment  it  gave  way  to  this 
united  assault.  The  fumes  of  burning  charcoal 
filled  my  nostrils  as  I  stepped  into  the  room,  and 
I  cried  out : 

"  Stand  back,  on  your  lives  !  " 

Keceding  as  I  spoke,  I  bore  back  the  two 
women,  Aunt  Mary  and  my  wife,  who  were  about 
entering  with  me.  The  room  was  in  darkness ; 
but  I  saw,  indistinctly,  two  figures  lying  on  the 
bed. 

"Kemain  here,"  I  said,  imperatively,  "until  I 
can  get  the  windows  open." 

Then,  holding  my  breath,  that  the  deadly  gas 
might  not  enter  my  lungs,  I  dashed  across  the 
room,  and  threw  open  the  sashes  and  shutters. 
As  I  turned,  I  saw  on  the  floor  an  ordinary  clay 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  43 

hand-furnace,  in  which  the  red  coals  were  still 
burning.  Snatching  this  up,  as  I  sprang  back 
towards  the  door,  I  removed  it  from  the  room. 

"Bring  some  cold  water,  instantly,"  said  I  to 
the  servant,  as  I  handed  her  the  furnace. 

It  now  occurred  to  me,  that  the  surest  way  to 
save  the  lives  of  Mrs.  Congreve  and  her  child,  if 
the  fatal  work  she  had  sought  to  accomplish 
were  not  already  done,  would  be  to  remove  them 
from  the  room.  The  thought  was  scarcely  half 
formed  in  my  mind,  when  I  crossed  to  the  bed, 
and  lifting  little  Florry,  reached  her  light  form  to 
my  wife.  Then  going  back,  I  gathered  the  slen 
der,  and  to  all  appearance  lifeless  body  of  the 
mother  in  my  arms,  and  bore  it  from  the  room 
also. 

Side  by  side  we  laid  them  in  the  adjoining 
chamber.  What  a  sight  to  be  remembered  it 
was  !  The  pale  face  of  Mrs.  Congreve  was  a  little 
darkened  by  congestion ;  but  it  was  serene  as  the 
face  of  one  who  slept,  dreaming  peaceful  dreams. 
Her  black  garments  had  been  laid  aside,  and  in 
their  place  she  wore  a  snowy  muslin  night-dress. 
Her  hair,  which  lay  smoothly  parted  away  from 
her  delicate,  feminine  forehead,  had  been  drawn 
behind  her  ears  and  knotted  low  down  upon  her 
neck,  with  womanly  care.  The  act  had  evidently 
been  soberly  premeditated ;  and  the  preparations 
conducted  with  deliberation.  Florry  was  also  in 


44  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

her  night-dress.  Her  countenance,  like  that  of 
her  mother,  was  slightly  congested,  but  showed  r>< 
mark  Of  suffering. 


THE   COKNEK    HOUSE.  45 


CHAPTER  Y. 

DIRECTED  water  to  be   dashed 
into  their  faces.      The  effect  was 
more  than  I  had  hoped,  for.     A 
slight  gasp  followed   the   shock ; 
and  there  was  a  nervous  quiver 
ing  along  the  neck  and  about  the  lips 
and  nostrils  of  both. 

"  There    is    life    remaining,"   I    said 
eagerly.     "  Send  for  a  doctor." 

u  Can  a  doctor  give  help  now?  " 
The  aunt  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm,  and  looked 
at  me  meaningly.  I  understood  her,  and  turning 
to  the  bed,  placed  my  fingers  on  the  wrist  of  Mrs. 
Congreve.  As  I  did  so,  I  noticed  that  her  hand 
was  tightly  clenched  upon  something.  It  was 
several  moments  before  I  could  find  the  lowest 
motion  of  life ;  but  it  came,  an  almost  impercepti 
ble  beat  against  the  sensitive  fingers.  Was  I  in 
error?  Had  hope  and  imagination  deceived  me? 
No! — there  it  was  again  ! — softer  and  feebler  than 
a  new-born  infant's — now  with  two  or  three  almost 


46  OUK    NEIGHBORS    TN 

fluttering  waves ;  and  now  again  in  a  single  throb 
after  a  prolonged  cessation.  Then  I  laid  my  hand 
over  the  heart  of  dear  little  Florry — my  eyes  grewt 
dim' as  I  looked  into  her  death-hued  face.  There 
was  no  mistaking  its  muffled  beat.  I  bent  down 
my  ear.  Yes,  she  breathed ! 

"  Thank  God  that  we  were  in  time !  "  I  mur 
mured,  rising  up.  "  Ten  minutes  longer,  and  no 
human  power  could  have  saved  them." 

"  Must  the  doctor  be  called?  " 

"  Wait  a  little.  Perhaps  they  will  revive  with 
out  his  aid." 

Even  as  I  spoke,  there  came  a  deep  sigh  from 
the  lips  of  Mrs.  Congreve,  followed  by  a  low  sound, 
like  a  groan.  Water  was  again  thrown  into  both 
their  faces ;  and  this  time  with  much  effect.  Florry 
began  to  show  many  signs  of  returning  animation. 

No  one  seemed  to  have  noticed  the  clenched 
hand  of  Mrs.  Congreve  but  myself.  As  I  stooped 
over  her  again,  I  saw  the  edge  of  a  narrow  piece 
of  blue  ribbon  between  her  closed  fingers.  Aunt 
Mary  turned  away  from  the  bed  for  some  purpose, 
going  to  a  distant  part  of  the  room.  Curiosity, 
even  in  this  dreadful  hour,  was  strong.  What  was 
in  that  hand,  clutched  and  clung  to  in  the  very 
death-hour  ?  My  hand  was  on  the  woman's  insen 
sible  hand;  I  pressed  back  the  fingers — they 
yielded,  and  my  eyes  rested  on  the  miniature  of  a 
young  man ;  rested  for  a  minute  only,  but  long 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  47 

enough  to  recognise  the  face!  Suddenly,  tht> 
fingers  of  Mrs.  Congreve  closed  again,  tightly,  on 
the  medallioD,  and  she  turned  her  pale  face  towards 
me,  which,  though  the  eyes  were  still  shut,  showed 
half-consciousness  and  feeling. 

The  pure  air  which  had  been  passing  into  the 
lungs  of  little  Florry,  and  giving  back  life  again 
to  the  exhausted  flood,  now  began  to  inflate  them 
in  fuller  volume.  Consciousness  was  restored. 
Rising  up,  she  looked  at  us  from  her  large  blue 
eyes  in  a  questioning,  frightened  way. 

"  Take  me,  Aunty,"  she  cried,  stretching  out  her 
hands. 

Aunt  Mary  caught  her  up  from  the  bed,  almost 
smothering  her,  as  she  did  so,  with  kisses. 

"  My  precious,  precious  one  !  "  she  murmured, 
in  a  low,  sobbing  voice,  and  then  bore  her  from 
the  room. 

"  Aunt  Mary !  "  called  Mrs.  Congreve,  now  sit 
ting  up  in  bed,  and  looking  first  at  me  and  then 
at  my  wife,  strangely  and  in  sad  bewilderment  of 
thought.  "  Where  is  Aunt  Mary  ?  "  She  threw 
her  eyes,  half-wildly  and  with  an  expression  of 
alarm,  about  the  room. 

My  wife  bent  over  her  and  said,  in  a  tone  meant 
to  dispel  anxiety  and  alarm  : 

"She  will  return  in  a  moment.  Lie  down 
again.  You  are  weak  and  sick." 

"Sick,  did  you  say?" 


48  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

Then  her  eyes  fell  suddenly  to  the  hand  which 
still  clasped  the  miniature.  She  opened  it,  but 
shut  the  fingers  again  with  a  nervous  quickness 
and  hid  the  hand  instantly  in  her  bosom.  When 
it  was  withdrawn  the  palm  lay  open  to  sight, 
glanced  at  my  wife,  and  saw  by  her  startled  eyes 
and  the  paleness  of  her  cheeks,  that  she  had  seen 
the  pictured  face  which  had  been  a  little  while 
before  revealed  to  my  wondering  vision.  Feeling 
now  that  my  presence  was  no  longer  required  in 
the  room,  and  could  only  be  embarrassing,  I 
withdrew  without  a  word.  I  met  Aunt  Mary  as 
I  came  out  into  the  passage. 

"How  is  she?" 

"  Eecovering  rapidly,"  I  answered. 

"  The  doctor  will  not  be  required  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that."  Then  she  stood  silent  for 
a  little  while. 

"  Don't  go  yet,  sir.  I  would  like  to  have  a  few 
words  with  you  after  seeing  Edith.  Will  you 
remain  for  a  short  time  ?  " 

I  promised  to  remain,  and  went  down  stairs  to 
the  parlors,  where  the  gas  had  been  lighted.  I 
felt  greatly  excited.  The  miniature  in  the  hand 
of  Mrs.  Congreve — showing  me  a  face  I  never 
could  forget — was  a  new  mystery.  Where  did  she 
get  that  miniature,  and  what  to  her  was  the  unhap 
py  man  it  represented  with  such  life-like  fidelity  ? 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  49 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SAT  pondering,  conjecturing,  and 
guessing,  but  with  no  satisfaction 
to  myself,  when  my  wife  came 
down  stairs,  accompanied  by  the 
aunt  of  Mrs.  Congreve. 
This  woman  was  small  in  stature,  of 
light  frame,  and  with  delicately  cut 
features.  Her  eyes  were  of  a  dark 
hazel — you  might  take  them  for  black 
at  the  first  glance — and  her  complexion 
fair,  and  her  skin  of  a  pure,  pearly  transparency. 
Her  nose  and  forehead  would  have  given  a  fine 
Grecian  outline,  but  for  the  slight  aquiline  rising 
of  the  former.  Her  chin  advanced  instead  of  re 
ceding,  and  rounded  into  something  like  a  volup 
tuous  fulness,  that  gave  you  rather  the  idea  of 
self-reliance  than  even  a  suggestion  of  sensuality. 
Grey  tokens  of  years  -or  suffering  mingled  in 
many  silvery  lines  amid  the  masses  of  her  glossy 
brown  hair.  Thought,  endurance,  self-conquest, 
and  pain  had  all  been  at  work  on  her  face — at 
3 


50  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

work  for  years;  but  they  had  not  cut  away  a 
line  of  that  true  womanly  beauty  which  is  of  the 
soul.  They  had  abraded  the  flesh,  only  to  let 
the  spirit  shine  through  with  less  obstruction. 
Her  step  had  in  it  a  dignity  that  made  you  feel 
yourself  in  the  presence  of  one  who  had  risen 
above  all  life's  meaner  things. 

I  arose  as  she  entered  the  room.  But  she  said, 
in  her  low,  evenly-modulated  tones : 

"  I  must  keep  you  here  a  little  while  longer  ; 
so,  pray,  be  seated  again." 

"How  is  Mrs.  Congreve?"  I  inquired,  as  I  sat 
down. 

"  Safe  from  the  danger  that  threatened  her  life, 
and  sleeping." 

"  It  was  a  narrow  escape,"  said  I. 

"Fearful  to  think  of!"  And  the  lady  shud 
dered. 

"Has  she  ever  attempted  her  life  before?"  I 
asked. 

She  looked  at  me  half  in  doubt,  I  could  see,  for 
a  little  while  before  answering,  and  then  said,  with 
undisguised  reluctance : 

"  Yes." 

I  regretted  having  asked  the  question.  Aunt 
Mary — for  so  I  must  designate  her  as  yet — felt 
embarrassed  by  my  query.  This  was  plain. 

"  I  must,"  she  said,  looking  up  into  my  face — 
her  eyes  had  been  resting  on  the  floor — "ask  of 


THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  51 

you  one  thing ;  secresy,  for  the  present  at  least,  in 
regard  to  what  you  have  seen  to-night.  No  good 
can  arise  from  bruiting  this  frightful  circumstance. 
And  it  will  be  painful  to  us  in  the  extreme  to 
have  it  noised  throughout  the  neighborhood." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  apprehend  on  that  score," 
I  answered  quickly.  "  I  can  speak  both  for  my 
wife  and  myself." 

She  gave  me  her  hand  from  a  grateful  impulse, 
saying: 

"I  thank  you  sincerely;  you  make  me  twice 
your  debtor." 

"Think  of  us,"  I  said,  "as  your  friends,  and 
call  upon  us  freely  for  any  service  in  our  power 
to  render." 

Her  hand,  that  still  lay  in  mine,  closed  with  a 
gentle,  confiding  pressure,  and  was  then  with 
drawn.  I  was  touched  by  her  tone  and  manner ; 
so  quiet,  and  yet  so  full  of  feeling. 

"  Mr.  Congreve  is  away  ?"  said  I. 

"Yes."  She  answered  no  further.  The  tone 
was  different  from  that  of  a  moment  before. 

"Can  we  serve  you  in  anything  more?"  I 
asked. 

"  Not  to-night,"  she  replied. 

"  Do  you  think,"  inquired  rny  wife,  "  that  it 
will  be  safe  to  leave  her  alone  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  leave  her  !  I  sleep  always  in 
the  same  room." 


52  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

I  saw  that  she  was  very  pale,  and  was  beginning 
to  show  considerable  repressed  nervousness. 

"  If  you  would  care  to  have  me  remain  with 
you  all  night,  ma'am,"  said  my  wife. 

"Thank  you  for  the  kindness  of  heart  that  sug 
gests  the  offer  ;  but  I  will  not  tax  your  good-will 
so  far." 

I  saw,  that  even  while  she  declined  the  over 
ture,  it  was  in  her  heart  to  accept  of  it. 

u  My  wife  is  entirely  in  earnest ;  I  can  speak 
for  that,"  said  I.  "  Had  you  not  better  take  her 
at  her  word  ?  " 

Aunt  Mary  looked  irresolute.  My  wife  arose, 
saying, 

"  I  do  not  think  it  well  for  you  to  be  left  alone 
to-night.  This  dreadful  occurrence  has  shocked 
you  severely.  I  know  you  want  a  friend,  and  I 
will  be  to  you,  for  the  present,  that  friend.  In 
half  an  hour  I  will  return,  and  stay  until  the 
morning." 

"  May  He  who  gives,  with  every  kind  impulse 
that  flows  into  the  heart,  a  blessing,  bless  you,  my 
stranger-friend.  I  will  not  refuse  what  I  so  much 
desire.  Come !  " 

There  were  tears  in  her  beautiful  eyes  as  we 
turned  away  and  left  the  room. 

"  You  saw  that  minaiture?  " 

It  was  my  first  remark,  as  we  sat  down  alone 
together,  after  reaching  home. 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  53 

"  I    did." 

"  And  recognised  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  comes  it  in  her  possession  ?  What  has 
she  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  am  in  a  maze,"  replied  my  wife. 

"  Had  he  become  entangled  in  any  love  affair 
at  the  time  of  his  fall  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  think  something  was  said  about  a  marriage 
engagement.  Yes,  I  remember  now.  And  it  was 
reported  that  the  young  lady  shut  herself  up  from 
society  for  a  long  time  afterwards." 

"  Evidently  Mrs.  Congreve  knew  him  then,  or 
since  his  release  from  prison ;  and  this  sad  condi 
tion,  in  which  we  lind  her,  is  referable,  I  am  sure, 
to  some  relation  between  them." 

"The  miniature,"  said  my  wife,  "gives  us  his 
face  of  ten  years  ago— not  the  face  he  must  wear 
since  that  dreadful  ordeal  through  which  crime 
forced  him  to  pass.  Have  you  heard  of  him  since 
he  came  out  of  prison  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  He  was  pardoned  out,  I  think." 

"  Yes.  Some  extenuating  circumstances  were 
urged  upon  the  Governor,  and  some  false  swear 
ing  of  witnesses  alleged,  I  believe.  At  any  rate, 
the  unhappy  young  man  was  sent  back  into  the 
world  again.  What  became  of  him  I  never 
learned." 


54  OUK   NEIGHBOES   IN 

"  You  remember  the  story  Mrs.  Wilkins  told 
us  a  little  while  ago  ?  " 

"  Yes."     I  felt  a  chill  creep  along  my  nerves. 

"  He  may  have  been  murdered  by  Mr.  Con- 
greve  1 "  The  blood  went  back  from  my  wife's 
face. 

"That  is  too  terrible  to  think  of!  No,  I  will 
not  believe  it." 

"But  why,  when  seeking  to  destroy  her  own 
life,  did  she  hold  that  miniature  in  her  hand?  " 

"  I  cannot  say,  Alice.  There  is  a  fearful  mys 
tery — tragedy,  I  fear — connected  with  her  life." 

"And  we  have  the  clue  to  it  in  that  miniature. 
Poor  Edgar !  Who  would  have  thought  that,  ten 
years  ago,  when  all  the  future  looked  so  bright 
and  beautiful  before  him,  when  his  praise  was 
on  all  lips,  that,  in  a  little  while,  his  feet  would 
stray  from  the  right  paths,  and  his  sky,  all  so 
blue  and  sunny,  grow  dark  with  tempest  and 
ruin?  He  fell  suddenly  from  a  mountain-peak, 
and  was  bruised,  past  sound  recovery,  I  fear,  in 
the  fall.  Unhappy  young  man !  How  often  the 
thought  of  him  has  given  me  the  heart-ache.  His 
poor  mother  went  down  with  the  shock.  But 
she,  true  to  her  mother-love,  always  said  he  was 
innocent." 

"  His  own  assertion." 

"  Yes.  He  claimed  to  be  the  victim  of  a  con 
spiracy." 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  55 

"And  may  have  been.  Heaven  knows,  I  would 
rather  believe  that  than  guilt.  But  never  was 
evidence  clearer  against  any  man." 

My  wife  returned  to  the  corner  house,  to  stay 
with  Aunt  Mary,  and  I  retired  for  the  night  to 
sleep  fitfully,  and  with  disturbing  dreams,  or  lie 
in  wakeful  puzzlings  of  the  unquiet  brain,  until 
day-dawn. 

Alice  came  in  very  soon  after  sunrise.  She 
looked  pale  and  weary,  like  one  who  had  passed 
the  night  in  watching;  but  had  little  to  commu 
nicate  that  reached  an  answer  to  the  many  ques 
tions  pressing  on  both  of  our  minds.  She  sat  up 
with  Aunt  Mary  until  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  talk 
ing;  not,  however,  on  any  subject  connected  with 
the  mystery  that  surrounded  the  family. 

"There  is  something  about  her,"  said  my  wife, 
"that  attracts  like  a  magnet.  I  never  met  any 
one  to  whom  I  was  drawn  so  powerfully.  Her 
mind  is  rarely  endowed ;  and  she  has  a  way  of 
looking  at  things  that  shows  her  to  possess  a  deep 
religious  trust." 

"  She  has  need  of  such  a  trust,"  I  suggested. 

"  And  this  very  need,  it  strikes  me,  has  given 
birth  to  a  faith  that  lifts,  amid  storm  and  dark 
ness,  its  steady  eyes  upwards." 

"Did  she  make  no  allusion  to  herself,  or  to  her 
aiece?  "  I  asked. 

"  No  direct  intelligible  allusion." 


56  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

«  What  did  you  talk  about?  " 

"Not  so  much  of  the  outer  as  of  the  innei 
world ;  not  so  much  of  events  as  of  mental  states 
and  conflicts.  I  noticed  often  as  we  conversed, 
forms  of  speech,  views  of  life,  and  admitted  expe 
riences,  that  showed  not  only  close  thought  and 
observation,  but  a  profound  knowledge  of  the 
human  heart.  She  is  no  ordinary  woman.  And 
to  think  of  her,  shut  out  from  circles  of  refine 
ment  and  intelligence;  hiding  away  from  obser 
vation,  and  her  life  darkened  by  a  mystery  that 
is  struggling  for  concealment,  makes  the  heart 
sad." 

"  The  very  qualities  she  possesses  are  doubtless 
needed,"  said  I,  "to  grapple  with  this  mystery, 
and  destroy,  in  the  end,  its  power.  There  is  no 
form  of  human  evil  that  has  not  its  counterbalan 
cing  good ;  no  disease  without  an  all-potent  rem 
edy.  In  His  infinite  adaptations  of  means  to  ends, 
God  acts  with  unerring  wisdom,  and  unfailing 
love.  If  she  is  the  true  woman  you  think,  God 
has  given  her  a  work  to  do  which  no  selfish,  shal 
low  weakling  could  perform.  She  may  pass  the 
days  in  pain  now,  but  there  shall  follow  a  season 
of  rest  and  peace  in  the  time  to  come,  when  He 
makes  up  His  jewels." 

"  Her  mind  struck  me  as  breathing  in  a  serene 
atmosphere  now,"  replied  my  wife,  "as  dwell 
ing  in  a  house  which,  though  beaten  upon  by  the 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  57 

rain,  and  made  to  shudder  in  the  wildly  rushing 
winds,  rested  firm  on  its  rocky  foundations.  There 
was  nothing  of  a  complaining  or  despondent 
spirit  about  her ;  but  a  brave  lifting  up  of  the 
heart  and  a  steady  eye  in  advance.  Some  of  the 
sentiments  which  she  uttered  in  our  conversation, 
struck  me  as  exceedingly  beautiful;  and  they 
were  given  in  words  most  fitly  spoken.  I  have 
hardly  met  with  her  equal,  as  a  woman  of  culti 
vated  mind,  and  rare  powers  of  conversation." 

"  The  night  passed  without  any  further  excite 
ment,  I  suppose,"  said  I. 

"  No ;  as  we  sat  talking  in  the  room  next  to 
that  in  which  Mrs.  Congreve  was  sleeping,  we 
were  startled  by  a  low,  wailing  cry,  so  full  of  in 
expressible  anguish  that  my  heart  stood  still  and 
shuddered.  Aunt  Mary  started  up,  and  I  followed 
her  rapid  feet  as  she  passed  to  the  adjoining  cham 
ber.  Mrs.  Congreve  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  with  a 
face  of  ghastly  whiteness,  and  her  eyes  distended 
and  protruding  fearfully. 

"  '  Oh,  Aunt  Mary  ! '  she  cried,  falling  forward, 
and  hiding  her  face  in  her  aunt's  garments. 

"  *  What  is  it,  dear  ?  What  has  frightened  you  ?  ' 
asked  Aunt  Mary,  in  a  gentle,  soothing  way. 
1  You  have  been  dreaming.' 

"  '  Was  it  a  dream  ?  '  The  poor  lady's  voice 
was  calmer,  yet  not  fully  assured.  '  I  thought  he 
was  here,  and — and — ' 


58  OTJR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  She  glanced  at  me,  became  silent,  and  seemed, 
I  thought,  embarrassed.  Aunt  Mary  did  not  re 
ply  to  what  she  said.  With  a  long,  sad  sigh,  Mrs. 
iCongreve  fell  back  again  on  her  pillow,  shut  her 
eyes,  and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall. 

" '  You  -must  be  tired  and  sleepy,'  said  Aunt 
Mary,  rising  from  the  bed  and  turning  to  me.  *  I 
have  not  been  thoughtful  in  keeping  you  up  so 
late.  Bless  me !  It  is  nearly  one  o'clock.'  She 
had  drawn  out  her  watch.  'Come,  I  will  show 
you  to  your  room.'  And  she  led  the  way  to  a 
small  chamber  on  the  same  floor. 

"  '  Don't  hesitate  to  call  me,  if  I  can  be  of  any 
service,'  said  I,  as  she  turned  to  leave  me.  'I 
am  not  a  sound  sleeper ;  your  lightest  tap  at  my 
door  will  bring  me  wide  awake.' 

"  '  There  will  be  no  occasion  for  disturbing  you, 
I  trust,'  she  replied,  as  'something  like  a  smile 
lighted  up  her  gentle  face.  '  Good  night,  and  God 
bless  you  I ' 

"  And  no  occasion  came,  if  I  am  to  judge  from 
the  fact  that,  after  turning  restlessly  on  my  bed 
for  two  hours,  unable  from  excitement  of  mind  to 
lose  myself  in  unconsciousness,  I  sank  away  to 
sleep  at  last,  and  did  not  wake  until  the  morning 
sun  looked  in  upon  my  face  and  drew  me  back 
from  the  land  of  dreams." 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE. 


59 


CHAPTEE    VII. 


HE  miniature  we  had  seen  in  the 
possession  of  Mrs.  Congreve,  was 
that  of  a  young  man  named 
Edgar  Holman,  a  cousin  to  my 
wife  of  the  second  remove. 
From  boyhood  up  to  the  time  he 
attained  his  twenty-third  year,  he  had 
borne  an  unblemished  character.  For 
over  five  years  before  going  to  the  West, 
which  removal  took  place  when  he 
reached  his  twenty-first  year,  he  was  a  steady  and 
welcome  visitor  to  our  family,  and  I  had  become 
warmly  attached  to  him. 

Madison,  Indiana,  was  the  point  to  which  he 
removed,  and  we  soon  had  intelligence  from  him 
of  the  most  gratifying  character.  He  was  clerk 
in  a  large  mercantile  establishment,  at  a  fair  salary, 
and  in  a  position  where  good  conduct,  united  with 
ability,  and  the  qualities  he  possessed,  were  sure 
to  advance  him  in  the  world.  Now  and  then,  a 


60  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

letter  came  from  him  in  which  he  spoke  cheerily 
of  his  prospects. 

I  was  sipping  my  coffee  and  reading  the  news 
paper,  one  morning,  when  a  paragraph  met  my 
eyes  that  sent  the  blood  coldly  to  my  heart.  It 
ran  thus : 

"SERIOUS  FORGERY. — A  young  man  named 
Edgar  Holman,  in  the  employment  of  Fairfield  & 
Co.*,  Madison,  Indiana,  has  been  arrested  on  the 
charge  of  forgery.'  The  evidence,  in  a  prelimi 
nary  examination  of  the  case,  looks  conclusive 
against  him.  The  amount  obtained  on  a  forged 
check  was  over  three  thousand  dollars.  The  cir 
cumstance  has  made  a  profound  sensation  in  the 
community  where  it  occurred,  as  the  unhappy 
young  man  bore  an  unblemished  character,  and 
had  the  unlimited  confidence  of  his  employers." 

"What's  the  matter?  "  asked  my  wife,  who  sat 
opposite  to  me  at  the  table,  and  noticed  a  change 
in  my  countenance. 

"  Bad  news,  Alice,"  I  replied. 

"  Bad  for  whom  ?  What  is  it  ? "  she  inquired,  a 
slight  shade  of  alarm  falling  over  her  face. 

"  Edgar  has  been  arrested  on  the  charge  of 
forgery ! " 

"  Impossible !  "     She  grew  deadly  pale. 

I  lifted  the  newspaper  and  read  aloud  the  pain 
ful  announcement. 

"  His  poor  mother  !     It  will  kill  her !  "  said  my 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  61 

wife,  as  the  tears  flooded  her  cheeks.  "But  is 
there  not  some  mistake  ?  Is  the  name  really  that 
of  Edgar  Holman?" 

I  looked  at  the  fatal  paragraph  again.  The 
name  stood  out  in  unmistakable  distinctness  ;  and 
we  knew  that  he  was  in  the  employment  of  Fair- 
field  &  Co. 

"  I  read  it  to  you  as  it  stands  here,  Alice." 

"  I  cannot  believe  it !  "  she  said.  "  There  is 
some  error.  Edgar  is  not  the  one  to  throw  charac 
ter,  happiness,  everything  a  man  holds  dear  and 
sacred,  to  the  winds,  for  a  few  thousands  of  dollars. 
No,  no  !  Depend  upon  it,  he  is  the  victim  of  some 
strangely  lying  circumstances,  and  his  innocence 
will  appear." 

"  God  grant  that  it  may  be  so!"  The  words 
came  chokingly  into  utterance.  I  remembered 
this  sentence :  "The  evidence  in  the  preliminary 
examination  of  the  case  looks  conclusive  against 
him." 

"  He  is  in  His  hands,"  said  my  wife,  meekly. 

"  Yes  ;  and  if  his  cause  is  just,  justice  will,  in 
the  end,  prevail." 

"  And  yet,"  replied  Alice,  the  troubled  tone 
coming  back  into  her  voice,  u  there  have  been 
many  cases  in  which  innocence  has  borne  the 
burden  of  guilt." 

"  That  is  so.  In  most  cases,  however,  inno 
cence  stands  justified  in  the  end,  and  the  tried 


62  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

soul  comes  forth,  in  its  white  garments,  more 
saintly  for  the  ordeal ;  and  if  more  saintly,  who 
'will  affirm  that,  no  matter  what  of  the  earthly 
has  been  consumed  in  the  fire,  the  ordeal  was  not 
a  blessing  instead  of  a  calamity.  There  are  natures 
in  which  the  gold  is  so  intimately  blended  with 
some  baser  metal,  that  only  the  intensest  fire  can 
sever  the  connexion." 

"  A  hard  doctrine,"  said  my  wife. 

"  Sin  makes  a  necessity  for  many  hard  doctrines. 
If  there  had  been  no  sin  there  would  have  been  no 
suffering.  Sin  transmits  its  evil  proclivities,  and 
but  for  God's  providence,  that,  in  wiseordainment, 
brings  adequate  reactions  upon  our  perverted  de 
sires,  we  would  be  carried  by  them  to  destruction 
as  surely  as  the  leaf  is  borne  away  on  the  bosom 
of  a  wildly  rushing  stream." 

"  But,"  said  my  wife,  "  if  Edgar  is  innocent  of 
this  crime,  for  which  he  stands  charged,  what 
possible  good  can  arise  from  such  a  blasting  of  all 
his  worldly  prospects ;  such  a  staining  of  his  fair 
reputation;  such  a  hell  of  suffering  as  he  must  of 
necessity  endure  ?  " 

"  If  innocent,  not  a  hell  of  suffering,"  I  made 
answer.  "  Only  the  evil  are  in  hell.  You  must 
find  some  other  term.  In  Bedford  jail,  falsely 
accused,  cast  out  from  his  fellow  men,  and  cut  off 
from  hope  in  the  world,  good  old  John  Bunyan 
was  not  in  hell.  No,  no.  That  poor  prison  on 


THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  63 

the  bridge,  with  its  narrow,  comfortless  walls, 
must  often  have  been  as  the  very  gate  of  heaven 
to  his  soul.  There  is  an  infinite  difference  between 
the  pain  of  those  who  suffer  fqr  well-doing,  and  of 
those  who  suffer  for  evil-doing.  Keep  that  always 
in  mind.  It  is  something  on  the  side  of  consola 
tion." 

"  Something  on  the  side  of  consolation !  A 
straw  cast  to  a  drowning  man  !  Think  of  yourself 
under  such  an  accusation  as  now  stands  against 
that  poor  young  man  !  "  My  wife  spoke  with  a 
flushing  face,  and  tremulous  but  half-indignant 
tones. 

"  No,  not  a  straw,  but  a  beam  of  wood,  to  save 
the  wretch  from  sinking.  If  I  were  under  such 
an  accusation,  would  not  self-conscious  innocence 
be  a  sustaining  power?  Could  any  force  of  the 
current  sweep  me  wholly  away  or  drag  me 
under  ?  Would  not  my  life  be  safe  ? — the  life  of 
my  soul  ?  —  innocent  life  ?  It  would  be  safe, 
Alice !  The  storms  might  rage,  and  the  floods 
lift  themselves  against  me;  but  they  could  not 
prevail." 

"  Oh,  to  some,  what  a  troubled  dream  is  exist 
ence  !  "  was  exclaimed  as  I  ceased  speaking.  "  To 
some,  what  crushing  burdens  have  to  be  borne ! 
To  some,  how  strangely  tangled  becomes  the  skein 
of  life !  I  cannot  see  it  clear  1  There  must  be  an 
error  somewhere  " 


64  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

"  Only  in  our  estimate  of  things  seen  but  in 
part ;  not  in  the  last  results.  Good  is  superior  to 
evil,  and  its  final  conquest  is  as  sure  as  day-dawn 
after  the  solemn  midnight.  Not  every  spirit  is 
vital  enough  with  the  elements  of  heavenly  life, 
nor  strong  enough  in  immortal  fibre,  to  bear  the 
fierce  trials  that  are  needed  to  bend  the  hard 
nature  which  lifts  itself  in  conscious  pride  and 
selfhood,  and  even  while  confessing  God  with  the 
lips,  rejects  him  in  the  heart.  Such  a  rejection  is 
fatal  to  happiness.  We  are  not  self-existent;  have 
no  life,  except  what  flows  into  our  spiritual  onrnn- 
ism  ;  cannot  draw  a  single  breath  except  through 
power  received  from  the  Author  of  our  being. 
Yet  so  perfect  is  the  appearance  of  thinking  and 
acting  from  ourselves,  that  we  are  all  the  while  in 
danger  of  falling  into  the  error  of  Lucifer,  son  of 
the  morning.  Pride  whispers  in  our  ears  a  pleas 
ant  suggestion  of  self-originating  power;  and  our 
hearts  begin  to  beat  with  a  fuller  measure.  We 
have  but  to  will,  and  from  the  all-creative  will 
must  spring  the  means  of  compassing  our  ends. 
We  become  as  gods  in  the  world  ;  each  for  himself 
— each  grasping  after  its  good  things,  and  each 
looking  upon  them  as  most  to  be  desired  for  bless* 
ing.  Now  that  infinite  love  which  desires  to  lift 
us  out  of  this  darkness  and  error,  which  can  only 
lead  us  to  eternal  unhappiness,  is  united  with  in 
finite  wisdom  and  prescience ;  and  in  providing 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  65 

for  the  correction  of  our  errors,  so  orders,  or  per 
mits,  our  way  in  the  world,  that  the  circumstances 
we  encounter  shall  react  upon  and  help  in  the 
correction  of  destructive  evils.  Only  God  can 
know  what  are  the  required  circumstances ;  for 
only  He  sees  what  is  in  the  heart,  and  how  it  will 
respond  to  correction.  As  for  us,  we  can  only  be 
patient,  and  wait  for  the  good  time  which  will 
surely  come,  if  in  our  patience  we  hold  fast  to  our 
integrity." 

"  Poor  boy !  "  said  my  wife.  "  There  could  not 
have  been  in  him  any  evil  requiring  such  a  disci 
pline  as  this." 

"  That  is,"  I  replied,  "  assuming  his  innocence. 
But  he  may  have  fallen  in  an  hour  of  temptation  ; 
may  have  put  forth  his  hand,  as  the  allegation 
assumes,  and  laid  it  covetously  upon  what  be 
longed  to  another." 

"  The  thing  is  too  improbable.  I  will  not  believe 
it,"  she  answered.  "  He  is  the  victim  of  lying 
circumstances." 

"Will  you  go  and  see  Mrs.  Holman  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes ;  I  must  go  there.  Oh,  dear !  I  turn  sick 
at  the  thought  of  meeting  her." 

"  Give  her  my  earnest  sympathy,  and  say  that 
whatever  I  can  do  in  this  unhappy  case  shall  be 
done  with  all  my  heart." 

My  wife  found  Mrs.  Holman  in  a  state  of  sad 


66  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

prostration.  Two  days  before,  she  had  received  a 
letter  from  her  son,  informing  her  of  the  dreadful 
charge  which  had  been  made  against  him.  "  I  can 
only  say,  dear  mother,"  he  wrote,  "that  I  am  as 
innocent  of  the  crime  as  when  I  lay  an  infant  in 
your  arms,  and  I  know  you  will  believe  me. 
Whether  I  can  make  my  innocence  appear  on  the 
trial  which  I  shall  have  to  stand,  is  known  only  to 
Him  who  looks  into  all  hearts.  There  is  a  strange 
agreement  in  the  evidence  which  has  been  brought 
against  me.  Even  the  teller  at  the  bank  swears 
that,  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge  and  belief,  I  am 
the  person  to  whom  he  paid  the  check.  He  says 
that  he  knows  me  by  sight  well,  and  has  been  in 
the  habit  of  taking  from  me  the  checks  of  the 
firm,  all  of  which  is  true.  A  part  of  the  money, 
which  he  swears  to  be  of  the  same  denomination 
as  the  notes  paid  to  me  on  the  forged  check,  was 
found  on  my  person  when  I  was  arrested,  and  in 
my  pocket-book!  Moreover,  two  half-filled  up 
checks  and  a  sheet  of  paper  written  over  with 
various  imitations  of  Fairfield  &  Co.'s  signature, 
were  found  in  my  desk.  And  yet,  to  make  the 
case  still  stronger  against  me,  by  an  additional  cir 
cumstance  in  the  chain  of  evidence,  the  salesman 
of  a  jeweller  swears  that  I  bought  of  him  a  gold 
watch  for  eighty  dollars  on  the  day  the  forgery 
was  .committed,  and  paid  him  in  bills  of  the  bank 
on  which  the  check  was  drawn.  These  bills  are 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  67 

produced,  and  prove  to  be  twenties,  the  denomi 
nation  of  the  bills  sworn  to  by  the  teller  as  having 
been  paid  to  me.  I  am  thus  explicit,  dear  mother, 
in  order  to  prepare  your  mind  for  the  worst.  A 
dark  conspiracy  to  ruin  me  has  been  laid  ;  but  by 
whom,  and  to  what  end,  I  am  not  only  ignorant, 
but  unfurnished  by  even  a  suspicion.  At  present, 
I  have  no  defence  except  my  asseveration  of  inno 
cence.  But  as,  in  cases  of  this  kind,  the  guilt  of 
an  accused  party  is  usually  a  foregone  conclusion  in 
the  public  mind,  this  will  avail  me  nothing.  I  try 
to  keep  a  brave  heart  in  this  fearful  calamity — try 
to  believe  that  God  will  make  my  innocence 
appear.  But  it  is  impossible  to  contemplate  the 
worst  that  may  come,  without  a  shudder." 

I  give  only  that  portion  of  his  letter  which 
speaks  of  his  relation  to  the  crime  charged  against 
him. 

When  the  trial  of  the  case  came  on  I  was  in 
attendance.  The  best  counsel  was  employed ;  and 
I  had  gone  over  with  them,  carefully  and  anxiously, 
all  of  the  case  and  evidence  which  could  be 
reached  before  coming  into  court  for  defence. 
They  did  not  present  a  very  hopeful  aspect.  I 
found  a  strong  feeling  in  the  community  against 
my  young  friend.  Everybody  seemed  to  regard 
him  as  guilty.  The  case  was  set  down  as  clear  for 
conviction.  "  I  would  be  one  to  lynch  a  jury  that 
would  render  a  verdict  of  not  guilty,"  I  heard  a 


68  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

man  say  while  the  subject  was  discussed  in  his 
presence.  I  mention  this  to  show  how  strongly 
set  the  tide  of  public  sentiment.  In  my  own  mind 
conviction  wavered.  I  found  Edgar  greatly 
changed.  He  had  fallen  into  a  depressed  con 
dition  of  mind,  and  looked  wretched  and  despair 
ing.  He  declared  himself  innocent ;  but  it  did 
not  seem  to  me  with  the  confidence  of  an  innocent 
person.  I  was  not  assured  by  his  manner  ;  and 
had  more  doubts,  after  seeing  him,  than  before. 
Still  I  hoped  that  on  the  trial  something  would 
occur  to  change  to  a  more  favorable  aspect  the 
look  that  things  wore. 

At  last  the  day  of  trial  came.  The  court-room 
was  crowded  almost  to  suffocation.  Edgar  took 
his  place  as  the  accused,  looking  pale  and  haggard, 
but  with  firm  lips  and  steady,  watchful  eyes.  I 
did  not  see  much  change  in  his  countenance, 
while  the  prosecuting  attorney  recited  the  case  as 
it  stood  for  trial,  and  stated  the  points  he  relied  on 
competent  witnesses  to  prove.  The  evidence  was 
then  called.  It  was  clear,  coherent,  and  hung 
together  as  witness  after  witness  took  the  stand, 
and  gave  testimony  in  a  chain  that  I  could  see 
forging  to  bind  the  unhappy  young  man  in  dis 
grace  and  ruin.  To  my  own  mind  his  guilt  was 
established ;  and  as  I*  looked  at  his  miserable  face, 
tears  of  pity  made  my  sight  dim. 

For  the  defence  little  was  attempted.     At  the 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  69 

hour,  according  to  the  teller's  evidence,  the  check 
was  drawn,  it  was  proved  that  Edgar  was  away 
from  the  store,  and  he  failed  to  show  where  he 
was  at  the  time.  The  teller  was  called  upon  to 
describe  the  dress  worn  by  the  party  to  whom  the 
check  was  paid.  He  designated  a  shawl  and  cap 
which  other  witnesses  swore  answered  exactly 
to  a  shawl  and  cap  worn  by  Edgar.  The  wear 
ing  of  this  shawl  and  cap  on  that1  day  Edgar  de 
nied.  It  was  a  clear  sunny  day,  and  these  were 
only  worn  by  him  in- very  cold  or  stormy  weather. 
In  order,  if  possible,  to  get  something  on  the  fa 
vorable  side  here,  a  clerk  from  the  store  of  Fair- 
field  &  Co.  was  called  to  the  witness-stand,  and 
questioned  as  to  the  fact  of  these  articles  being 
worn  on  the  day  in  question  by  Edgar.  He  re 
membered  the  day  well,  and  was  certain  the  pri 
soner  had  on  that  particular  cap  and  shawl. 

The  case  went  finally  to  the  jury  after  a  feeble 
effort  on  the  defensive  side,  and  in  less  than  half 
an  hour  the  wretched  young  man's  ears  were  stun 
ned  by  the  verdict  of  "  Guilty." 


OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

•T  would  be  hard  to  forget  that  day, 
and  that  scene.  Clear  as  was  the 
evidence  against  Edgar  Holman, 
plain  to  all  eyes,  as  it  was,  that 
the  jury  had  little  question  of  his 
guilt  when  they  left  the  box  to  deliber 
ate  on  a  verdict,  I  yet  saw  hope  in  the 
wretched  young  man's  face  when  he  was 
brought  into  court  by  the  officer  who 
had  him  in  charge,  to  hear  the  verdict. 
A  dead  blank  of  hopelessness  I  had  rather  seen ; 
for  then  there  could  be  no  shock  of  feeling  to  a 
lower  depth.  The  cup  would  have  been  full,  the 
circle  of  fire  complete,  the  pain  half  deadened  bjr 
its  accumulated  intensity. 

When  the  Judge  directed  him  to  stand  up  and 
hear  the  verdict,  he  caught,  with  nervous  eager 
ness,  at  the  railing  by  which  he  sat,  and  drew  him 
self  to  his  feet.  There  came  a  flash  upon  his  wan 
face,  and  I  could  see  his  eyes  gleam  as  he  turned 


THE    COEKER    HOUSE.  71 

them  upon  the  foreman  of  the  j  ury,  on  whose  first 
utterance  hung  his  fate.  Too  soon,  also,  came  the 
fatal  word.  As  it  struck  harshly  upon  the  still 
air,  it  staggered  him  like  a  heavy  blow.  The 
faint  flush  went  out  from  his  face  like  the  sudden 
extinguishment  of  a  taper.  I  never  saw  such  a 
face  before,  with  a  live  heart  beating  in  the  bosom 
beneath.  How  was  it  that  he  had  dared  to  hope  ? 
Yet  it  was  plain  that,  in  spite  of  the  mountain- 
weight  of  evidence  which  had  been  brought  against 
him,  he  had  looked  for  a  different  result.  Could 
it  have  been  anything  more  than  the  hope  of  a 
felon,  who  stretches  his  eyes  eagerly  beyond  the 
crowd  assembled  to  see  the  last  tragedy  in  his  life 
enacted,  in  vain  expectation  of  a  reprieve?  I  know 
not;  but  this  result,  which  all  had  looked  for, 
found  him  alone  unprepared.  His  head  sank  for 
ward  after  a  moment  of  statue-like  stillness,  and 
he  drooped  down  into  the  chair  from  which  he  had 
just  arisen,  apparently  unconscious  of  what  was 
passing  around  him.  The  Judge  directed  his  re 
moval  to  prison,  there  to  await  sentence  of  the 
law. 

On  the  next  day  I  was  permitted  to  see  him. 
He  was  greatly  changed.  The  restless  nervous 
ness  which  had  shown  itself  before  the  trial,  was 
gone.  He  appeared  like  one  who  had  been  stunned 
by  a  shock,  from  the  effects  of  which  he  still  suf 
fered.  No  reference  was  made  to  the  trial  or  ver- 


72  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

diet.  I  did  not  speak  of  it,  and  he  omitted  even 
the  remotest  allusion  thereto.  What  could  I  say 
to  him?  Oh !  words  had  nothing  in  them  for  such 
a  case.  I  believed  him  guilty,  and  he  could  not 
but  have  seen  it.  What  an  embarrassing  inter 
view  it  was ! — embarrassing  beyond  anything  I 
had  ever  known. 

On  the  following  day  he  was  sentenced  to  seven 
years'  imprisonment  at  hard  labor  in  the  State 
Prison;  and  all  men  said  the  sentence  was  just. 
I  saw  him  once  again  after  the  sentence,  and  for 
the  last  time.  The  dead  stupor  that  fell  upon 
him  at  the  rendition  of  the  verdict,  which  cut  him 
off  from  hope,  had  passed  away,  and  his  mind  was 
clear  and  calm.  Once  only  did  I  refer  to  his  posi 
tion,  as  a  man  convicted  of  crime,  in  the  remark, 
that  I  trusted  the  few  years  of  expiation  that  lay 
before  him  would  do  a  salutary  work.  His  eyes 
flashed  instantly,  and  he  looked  at  me  with  a  gaze 
of  such  fiery  intensity  that  I  turned  my  face  partly 
aside. 

"You  will  see  my  poor  mother,"  he  remarked, 
in  a  failing  voice,  as  I  was  about  leaving  him. 

"  Yes.     What  shall  I  say  to  her,  Edgar  ?  " 

"  Only  this  from  me — that  I  am  innocent" 

He  did  not  take  his  sad  eyes  from  mine  even 
for  an  instant,  as  he  said  this. 

"  Nothing  more  ?  "  I  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"Nothing  more,"   he   replied,  in    a  mournful 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  73 

voice.  "  They  are  the  only  words  of  comfort  in 
my  power  to  send.  She  will  believe  them." 

And  so  I  parted  from  him.  Yes,  his  mother 
believed  them.  In  her  eyes  he  was  innocent, 
though  to  all  else  he  was  guilty,  and  the  law 
exacted,  in  stern  retribution,  the  penalty  of  guilt. 
But  faith  in  her  son  could  not  give  strength 
sufficient  for  her  day  of  trial.  In  less  than  a  year 
after  his  imprisonment  she  passed  to  her  everlasting 
rest. 

Five  years  of  the  term  allotted  to  him  were 
served  out  by  Edgar,  when  in  some  way,  the 
particulars  of  which  did  not  reach  me,  interest  was 
made  for  him  with  the  Governor  of  the  State,  who 
granted  a  pardon. 

All  the  circumstances  of  the  case  were  brought 
back  vividly  to  rny  mind,  by  the  singular  fact 
of  his  miniature  being  found  in  the  possession 
of  Mrs.  Congreve. 

"  You  were  satisfied  of  his  guilt,"  said  my  wife, 
as  we  talked  over  the  matter  a  few  days  afterwards. 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it  crossed  my  mind  after 
listening  to  the  evidence  adduced  at  the  trial. 
And  yet  the  expression  of  his  face,  and  the  steady 
gaze,  and  almost  fiery  flash  of  his  eyes,  when 
I  assumed  as  a  settled  thing  his  guilt,  at  our  last 
interview,  have  often  been  remembered,  and  not 
always  without  a  question  as  to  what  they  really 
meant.  Were  they  assumed  to  impress  me  for  his 


74  CUE   NEIGHBORS   IN 

mother's  sake,  or  were  they  the  signs  of  inno 
cence  ?  " 

"  Let  us  believe  them  the  signs  of  innocence,17 
said  my  wife,  a  new  interest  in  her  unhappy 
relative  awakening  in  her  mind. 

"  And,  as  a  consequence,"  I  answered,  "  take  to 
my  troubled  consciousness  the  fact  that  I  turned 
from  him  coldly,  in  the  hour  of  his  greatest  extrem 
ity,  with  my  judgment  of  the  case  adding  its  weight 
to  the  crushing  burden  that  lay  upon  his  heart. 
I  don't  like  to  think  of  that,  Alice.  I  was  almost 
his  only  friend  in  that  darkest  time  of  his  life; 
and  when  I  turned  from  him  and  left  him  to  his 
fate,  how  the  blackness  of  midnight  must  have 
fallen  around  him !  Innocent !  No,  Alice.  He 
was  not  innocent.  The  thought  almost  suffocates 
me." 

"  Better  innocent — better  a  thousand  times  I  " 
answered  my  wife.  "  The  suffering  of  guilt  is 
a  hell,  down  into  which  no  white-robed  angel 
comes  with  words  of  hope  and  comfort." 

"True — true.  Yes,  better  innocent — better  a 
thousand  times !  It  is  now  nearly  two  years 
since  his  release  from  imprisonment  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

'"  And  we  have  heard  nothing  of  him  since  that 
time?" 

"No." 

"Was  it  not  said  that  evidence  in  proof  of 


THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  75 

some  false  swearing  on  the  part  of  witnesses  was 
brought  to  the  Governor  ?  " 

"Yes.     We  heard  that." 

I  let  my  thoughts  run  back  over  the  intervening 
seven  years,  and  recalled,  as  distinctly  as  possible, 
the  several  witnesses.  There  was  one  of  these 
who  gave  his  name,  I  remembered,  with  rather  an 
unseemly  interest  in  his  affirmations,  as  if  he  were 
particularly  desirous  that  his  evidence  should  be 
conclusive  against  the  prisoner.  He  it  was  who 
testified  to  the  fact  of  Holman's  having  worn  the 
shawl  and  cap  by  which  the  teller  identified  him. 
I  noticed  his  appearance  at  the  time,  and  was 
affected  by  it  unpleasantly.  But  the  idea  of  a 
perjured  witness  did  not  cross  my  mind.  Now 
the  circumstance  began  to  have  -a  significance. 
This  young  man  might  have  committed  the  forgery 
himself?  I  could  not  find,  however,  much  to 
sustain  the  hypothesis  ;  and  soon  dismissed  it  from 
my  thoughts. 

"  We  shall  get  lower  down  into  the  heart  of  this 
matter  before  long,"  said  my  wife. 

"  Through  our  strange  neighbors  in  the  corner 
house?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  uncover,  it  may  be,  a  tragedy  that  might 
better  sleep.  You  have  not  forgotten  the  story 
told  by  Mrs.  Wilkins  ?  " 

"I   am   not   willing  to  believe  in  the  story — 


6  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

not,  at  least,  as  applied  to  this  case.  It  is  so 
short  a  time  after  his  release  from  prison,  Edgar 
could  not  have  become  thus  involved." 

"  As  the  story  goes,  it  was  a  young  English 
man.  He  might  have  assumed  that  character  by 
way  of  disguise." 

But  my  wife  would  not  give  the  suggestion 
any  credence. 

Two  or  three  days  passed  without  our  seeing  or 
hearing  from  the  Congreves.  Mrs.  Wilkins,  whose 
curiosity  had  become  greatly  piqued  in  re 
gard  to  them,  and  whose  dwelling  was  so 
situated  that  she  could  keep  the  corner  house 
under  surveillance,  came  in  almost  every  day 
to  see  my  wife,  and,  as  she  supposed,  corn- 
pare  notes.  But  the  showing  of  notes  was 
all  on  her  side.  My  wife  had  gained  so  much 
of  a  personal  interest  in  the  family,  to  say 
nothing  of  her  promise  to  Aunt  Mary,  that  her 
own  lips  were  guarded  with  jealous  care.  She 
received  all  that  Mrs.  Wilkins  had  to  give  and  kept 
her  own  discoveries  to  herself.  But  Mrs.  Wilkins 
had  nothing  of  interest  to  communicate.  Two  or 
three  times  she  had  seen  Aunt  Mary  go  out  and 
come  in.  A  few  parcels  had  been  left.  Once  an 
express-wagon  stopped  at  the  door,  and  a  large 
box  was  delivered.  And  there  had  been  at  least 
two  telegrams  to  somebody  in  the  house;  she 
knew  this  must  be  so,  for  a  boy  had  handed  in 


THE    CORXER    HOUSE.  77 

a  little  book,  with  a  letter,  on  both  occasions,  and 
received  back  anwers. 

uThat  telegraph  business,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins, 
"  looks  to  me  suspicious.  Two  dispatches  to  a 
private  house,  in  two  consecutive  days — and  there 
may  have  been  a  dozen.  I  could  not  watch  all 
the  while,  you  know — it  is  not  a  usual  circum 
stance,  by  any  means." 

"Did  you  see  anything  of  Mr.  Congreve?" 
asked  rny  wife. 

"  No,  not  a  sign  of  him.  And  that's  a  little 
singular." 

Every  circumstance  becomes  magnified  into 
singularity  where  suspicion  is  an  admitted 
guest. 

"  I  have  my  own  notions  about  him,"  added 
Mrs.  Wilkins. 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  he  is  away  from  home." 

"Why  do  you  doubt  his  absence?  " 

"  It's  just  my  opinion  that  he  is  within  them 
four  brick  walls  at  the  corner,  hiding  away  in 
dread  of  discovery." 

"  Then  you  will  have  him  to  be  the  murderer 
of  that  young  Englishman." 

"  I  believe  it  in  my  heart." 

My  wife  did  not  attempt  to  remove  this  im 
pression.  It  was  to  her  a  most  painful  view  of 
the  case — painful,  as  involving  Mrs.  Congreve  in 


78  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

the  charge  of  infidelity,  but  significant  of  the  fate 
of  her  cousin. 

"  I've  seen  a  suspicious-looking  man  loitering 
about  the  neighborhood,  and  especially  near  the 
corner  house,  for  several  days  past,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilkins.  "Once  he  walked  up  to  the  door  and' 
rang  the  bell.  I  would  have  given  something 
handsome  to  have  heard  what  passed  between 
him  and  the  servant  who  came  to  the  door.  It 
was  plain  that  the  answer  she  gave  to  his  ques 
tions  did  not  satisfy  him,  for  he  stood  talking  to 
her  for  some  time,  and  once,  after  going  partly 
down  the  steps,  returned  to  say  something 
more." 

On  the  third  evening  after  the  nearly  fatal  at 
tempt  of  Mrs.  Congreve  to  take  her  own  life  and 
that  of  her  child,  Alice  ventured  upon  a  call.  She 
had  said  to  Aunt  Mary,  "  Be  sure  to  send  for  me 
if  I  can  serve  you  in  anything."  But  Aunt  Mary 
had  not  sent  for  her  during  this  period,  and  she 
did  not  feel  free  to -intrude  herself.  ISTow,  how 
ever,  a  sufficient  time  had  passed  to  admit  of  a 
friendly  visit  without  the  appearance  of  any  curi 
ous  interest,  which  all  persons  occupying  an  equi 
vocal  position  must  feel  as  annoying.  I  own  to 
having  awaited  her  appearance  with  a  certain 
degree  of  restlessness  which  I  could  not  over 
come.  Her  countenance  wore  its  usual  quiet 
expression  when  she  came  in.  I  saw  at  a  glance 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  79 

that  nothing  had  occurred  to  excite  her  mind,  or 
to  answer  the  questions  we  were  both  so  anxious 
to  solve. 

"  How  did  you  find  Mrs.  Congreve  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Very  different  from  the  state  in  which  I 
found  her  on  my  previous  visits.  She  was  calm, 
gentle,  and  lady-like  in  her  manners ;  though  for 
much  of  the  time  silent.  I  did  not  see  anything 
of  the  wildness  displayed  on  the  occasion  of  her 
sudden  appearance  here;  nor  of  the  restlessness 
and  querulousness  I  had  once  noticed.  Indeed 
nothing  occurred  to  indicate  a  disordered  mind. 
She  was  singularly  pale,  as  when  I  first  saw  her, 
and  the  sadness  of  her  mouth  and  eyes  was  not 
once,  during  the  evening,  softened  by  a  smile. 
Aunt  Mary  was  lovelier  than  ever.  So  gentle,  so 
sweet,  so  intelligent.  Such  noble  views  of  life ! 
Such  a  profound  trust  in  Providence !  Once,  as 
Mrs.  Congreve  expressed  a  doubt  in  regard  to  all 
things  being  adjusted  for  our  highest  good,  Aunt 
Mary  said,  with  a  countenance  full  of  divine  con 
fidence — '  Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in 
him.' 

"  Mrs.  Congreve  shook  her  head  in  a  doubting 
manner,  and  turning  to  me,  said : 

"  'Aunt  Mary's  faith  exceeds  mine,  as  well  as 
her  patience  and  resignation.  She  is  one  of  those 
who  can  kiss  the  hand  that  holds  the  rod.  I  am 
not  as  submissive,  however.  She  looks  through 


80  OUR    NEIGHBORS   IN 

every  dark  cloud,  and  sees  sunshine  above ; 
through  every  high  mountain  that  lies  across  her 
path,  and  sees  green  fields  and  pleasant  rivers 
beyond.  All  will  come  out  right.  That  is  the 
anchor  of  her  soul.  Ah,  if  I  could  only  think 
so — only  think  so  ! ' 

"  Her  voice  grew  mournful — she  sighed  deep 
ly — her  eyes  fell  to  the  floor,  and  she  sat  very 
still. 

"  '  Aunt  Mary  is  right,'  said  I.  '  God's  provi 
dence  acts  by  unerring  laws.  There  can  be  no 
miscalculations  where  infinite  intelligence  directs 
in  the  affairs  of  men.' 

"  She  turned  her  eyes  upon  my  face  with  a 
strange,  questioning  look,  and  said : 

"  '  Where  innocence  is  cruelly  struck  down — 
when  a  fair  name  is  blighted  by  falsehood — when 
the  pure  and  honorable  are  made  to  bear  the  expia 
tion  that  is  demanded  for  crime — do  you  say  that 
there  is  no  miscalculation  ?  ' 

"She  grew  excited;  I  saw  her  eyes  dilating, 
her  lips  arching,  and  her  thin  nostrils  beginning 
to  widen.  But  now  Aunt  Mary  leaned  towards 
her,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  her  restless  hand, 
said,  with  a  most  loving  tenderness,  and  a  smile 
that  an  angel's  face  might  have  worn — 

"  '  Don't  wander  away,  darling,  into  this  maze 
of  doubt!  It 'will  all  grow  clear,  clear  as  noon 
day.  Night  only  endures,  in  any  life,  for  a  season. 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  81 

There  is  a  golden  morning  to  break  over  the 
mountains  ;  and  its  time  is  sure.' 

"  Mrs.  Congreve  looked  steadily  into  the  face 
that  bent  near  her  own,  as  if  she  understood  it 
to  possess  a  magical  power.  And  verily  I  be 
lieve  it  did,  for  her  perturbed  spirit.  The  flut 
tering  heart  soon  folded  its  startled  wings,  and 
settled  down  quietly  in  her  bosom.  She  did  not 
speak  again,  except  in  some  casual  remark,  but 
sat  busily  knitting,  with  her  eyes,  for  the  most 
part,  on  the  work  in  her  hands." 

"You  stayed  late,"  said  I. 

"  It  was  because  the  time  glided  pleasantly 
away  in  Aunt  Mary's  company.  I  scarcely  noted 
the  passing  moments.  There  is  a  spiritual  beauty 
in  her  character  not  often  seen.  She  is  gentle 
and  wise.  A  true  lady,  because  a  true  woman. 
I  could  sit  and  listen  unwearied  to  her  true  words 
for  hours,  and  come  away  stronger  for  duty  and 
humanity." 

"  These  states  of  aberration,  on  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Congreve,"  said  I,  "are  not  permanent,  it  would 
seem." 

"  No ;  her  condition  to-night  shows  that." 

"  Did  you  not  think  her  remark  about  inno 
cence  being  struck  down,  and  a  fair  name  blight 
ed  by  falsehood,  singular  under  the  circum 
stances?  " 

"  I  was  struck  by  it.     Evidently,  she  believes 
4* 


82  OTJK    NEIGHBORS   IN 

Edgar  to  have  been  the  victim  of  a  base  conspi 
racy,"  said  my  wife,  "  and  doubtless  she  is  in  pos 
session  of  facts  unknown  to  us.  I  will  accept 
her  view,  and  believe  him  innocent.  But  where 
is  he  ?  And  what  is  his  *  relation  to  this  heart- 
stricken,  unhappy  woman  ?  These  are  questions 
that  grow  more  and  more  clamorous  for  solution 
every  hour." 

"  We  must  wait  for  a  while  yet,"  said  I.  "The 
clue  is  in  our  own  hands,  I  think,  and  time  will 
bring  us  to  the  heart  of  this  mystery." 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


visit  has  been  a  very  pleas 
ant  one,"  was  the  remark  of 
Aunt  Mary,  as  my  wife  rose  to 
go  home. 

"  Not  more  pleasant  to  you 
than  it  has  proved  to  me,"  answered 
my  wife. 

"Will   you   come  again?"    Aunt 
Mary's  eyes  gave  warrant  of  her  sin 
cerity. 

"  If  my  visits  will  be  agreeable." 
Aunt  Mary  took  her  hand,  as  she  replied: 
"They  will  always  be  agreeable.     You  have 
been  very  kind  and  very  considerate  —  more  like 
a  true-hearted  friend  than  a  stranger.     Come  and 
see  us  often,  if  you  will  waive  the  formality  of  a 
full  return  of  visits.     I  will  repay  what  I  can." 

My  wife  accepted  this  friendly  overture,  and 
made  frequent  visits  to  the  corner  house  ;  always 
growing  more  and  more  interested  in  both  aunt 


84  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

and  niece,  who  proved  to  be  highly  educated,  re 
fined,  and  intelligent. 

Several  months  had  passed  since  this  family 
entered  our  neighborhood,  yet  were  we,  apparent 
ly,  no  nearer  a  solution  of  the  mystery  that  sur 
rounded  them,  than  when  the  first  intimations 
came  of  their  being  in  some  way  involved  with 
our  cousin.  For  nearly  three  months  of  this  pe 
riod  we  had  seen  nothing  of  Mr.  Congreve. 

One  evening,  my  wife,  who  went  in  often,  sat 
talking  with  Mrs.  Congreve  and  her  aunt,  when  a 
man's  step  was  heard  in  the  passage  below.  An 
exclamation  came  from  the  lips  of  Mrs.  Congreve. 
Alice  looked  towards  her,  and  saw  that  the  face 
was  agitated,  and  the  expression  strange— almost 
fearful.  Eising,  she  passe^  from  the  room  with 
swift,  noiseless  steps.  Aunt  Mary  did  not  move 
nor  show  any  unusual  disturbance.  Her  face  was 
partly  turned  aside,  so  that  it  could  not  be  clearly 
seen.  A  heavy  step  moved  along  the  hall,  then 
ascended  the  stairs.  Aunt  Mary  now  arose,  and 
half  crossed  the  room  to  the  door.  It  was  Mr. 
Congreve. 

"  This  was  the  first  time  I  had  met  him,"  said 
my  wife,  in  relating  the  circumstance ;  "  and  the 
first  opportunity  for  observing  him  closely.  His 
face,  as  you  know,  is  strongly  marked ;  a  pro 
minence  of  feature  being  one  of  its  peculiarities. 
His  complexion  is  quite  dark.  I  thought  him,  as 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  85 

he  stood  in  the  door,  with  the  light  of  feeling  in 
his  countenance,  a  handsome  man,  but  not  a  good 
man.  Strength,  will,  passion,  were  clearly  indi 
cated  ;  and  not  only  these,  but  disappointment  and 
suffering. 

"  '  Aunt  Mary,'  he  uttered  her  name  in  a  kind 
of  dead  level  tone,  as  though  he  had  returned 
after  an  hour's  absence.  She  did  not  offer  him 
her  hand — I  noticed  that — nor  give  him  a  wel 
come  word.  But  her  voice  was  gentle  and  kind 
as  she  presented  him  to  me,  and  pronounced  his 
name.  He  came  into  the  room  and  sat  down, 
addressing  me  a  few  words  in  a  courteous  man 
ner,  though  he  was  by  no  means  at  ease  in  my 
presence.  I  sat  as  long,  after  he  came,  as  seemed 
right  under  the  circumstances,  and  then  returned 
home." 

Scarcely  had  my  wife  ceased  speaking,  when 
some  one  gave  our  bell  a  desperate  jerk,  and  she 
started  to  her  feet.  She  was  nervous  about  the 
effect  on  Mrs.  Congreve  of  her  husband's  return, 
and  this  sudden  loud  ring  unsettled  her. 

"Mrs.  Congreve,  as  I  live!"  she  exclaimed,  as 
she  bent  over  the  baluster.  Then  she  went  flying 
down  stairs.  I  followed.  My  wife  had  drawn 
her  into  the  parlor,  and  they  stood  together,  the 
arm  of  Alice  around  her,  as  I  entered. 

"My  husband,"  said  Alice. 

I  bowed,  but  my  appearance  was  not  welcome. 


86  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

I  saw  this,  but  kept  my  ground.  There  were 
signs  of  deep  disturbance  on  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Congreve.  My  wife  drew  her  to  a  sofa,  and  sat 
down,  holding  both  her  hands.  After  several 
minutes  of  silence,  Mrs.  Congreve  said,  in  a  husky 
fluttering  voice,  "  You  must  forgive  me,  friends,  for 
this  unseemly  intrusion."  She  looked  at  me  and 
then  at  my  wife.  I  sat  down  in  front  of  them. 
The  word  friends  included  me,  of  course,  and  I  ac 
cepted  the  recognition.  There  was  nothing  of  that 
wild  incoherence  of  manner  seen  on  the  occasion 
of  a  similar  visit  made  some  months  before. 

"Does  Aunt  Mary  know  of  this?"  asked  my 
wife. 

Mrs.  Congreve  shook  her  head. 

"It  will  frighten  her." 

"I  can't  help  it.  You  will  let  me  stay  here 
to-night?  "  and  she  looked  with  appealing  earnest 
ness  into  my  wife's  face. 

"On  one  condition,"    replied  Alice,  promptly. 

"What?" 

"  You  must  send  word  to  Aunt  Mary  that  you 
are  here." 

Mrs.  Congreve  thought  for  some  moments. 

"  I  will  write  her  a  note." 

"  Very  well." 

I  brought  paper  and  a  pencil.  The  note  was 
hurriedly  written,  and  my  wife  conveyed  it  her 
self,  as  we  did  not  wish  to  let  our  domestics  into 


THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  87 

the  secret  of  what  was  passing  any  further  than 
could  be  helped.  Mrs.  Congreve  sat  without 
speaking  a  word  until  her  return,  and  I  did  not 
think  it  wise  to  intrude  any  remark. 

"Did  you  see  her?"  she  asked,  with  evident 
anxiety,  when  my  wife  returned. 

"  No  ;  I  gave  the  note  to  Jane,  and  told  her  to 
be  sure  to  place  it  in  Aunt  Mary's  hands." 

For  the  next  three  or  four  minutes  she  sat  listen 
ing,  as  if  every  moment  in  expectation  that  some 
one  would  appear.  Then  she  breathed  more 
freely,  and  showed  signs  of  relief. 

"  I  think,"  she  now  said,  speaking  in  that  tone 
which  is  assumed  in  reverie,  not  looking  up  into  our 
faces,  "  that  I  must  be  living  in  a  dream.  This 
can't  all  be  real  !  Is  it  real,  or  is  it  phan 
tasy?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  my  wife,  and 
gazed  at  her  in  a  doubting,  curious  way. 

"  If  real,"  she  added,  "  then  fact  is  stranger 
than  fiction." 

"  The  real,"  replied  Alice,  "  is  the  actual  of  our 
inner  lives  ;  the  enduring  things,  their  quality. 
Change,  mystery,  doubt,  wrong,  sweep  around  us 
in  the  ever  mutable  external — but  the  inner  life  is 
secure,  if  we  wisely  make  it  so.  In  the  maze  of 
'circumstances  by  which  we  are  involved,  we  seem, 
at  times  to  be  dreaming.  We  ask  ourselves,  as 
you  do  now,  am  I  sleeping  or  awake  ?  Is  it  real  or 


88  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

a  phantasy  ?  In  part,  it  is  phantasy.  We  look 
at  the  bewildering  investiture  of  external  circum 
stances  until  their  true  meaning  is  lost,  and  wo 
give  them  a  significance  that  misleads  us.  But  this 
is  not  wise.  Let  us  go  down  into  our  hearts  and 
see  to  what  measure  they  beat.  Let  us  lay  aside 
covering  after  covering,  and  get  at  their  true 
quality.  Let  us  see  whether  God's  laws  are  our 
laws." 

"Laws — laws — "  She  looked  bewildered. 
"The  heart  is  bound  by  no  laws.  You  cannot 
trammel  it  with  fetters.  The  heart  is  free." 

"  Only  in  true  freedom  when  bound  by  the  laws 
of  God,"  said  Alice,  calmly.  "  Blind  passion  and 
evil  impulse  are  not  freedom." 

"  But  is  there  not  freedom  in  true  love  ?  " 

She  fixed  her  eyes  with  an  intensity  of  inquiry 
on  the  face  of  my  wife. 

"  If  love,"  was  the  answer,  "  makes  a  false  vow ; 
if  it  binds  itself  with  solemn  pledges,  against  which 
the  heart  rebels,  the  bonds  are  self-wrought,  and 
may  not  be  broken.  Love  is  not  free  in  this  case." 

The  hands  of  Mrs.  Congreve  were  laid  slowly 
over  her  bosom,  and  I  saw  them  press  tightly 
against  it,  as  if  she  were  attempting,  by  an  exter 
nal  act,  to  still  the  disturbed  beating  within. 

"It  is  a  mystery,"  she  sighed.  "I  cannot  see 
it  clearly.  Aunt  Mary  talks  so ;  and  she  is  good 
and  wise.  You  talk  so,  and  I  think  you  good  and 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  89 

wise,  also.  But  it  is  hard — hard,  I  cannot  bear  it, 
I  am  not  strong  enough." 

"But  you  will  be,"  said  my  wife,  confidently. 
"  Time  and  Grod's  Providence  are  at  work.  You 
have  been  made  to  pass  through  a  region  that 
must  have  been  dark  and  fearful  as  the  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death  ;  but  there  is  a  plain  way  for 
your  feet;  and  delectable  mountains,  from  which 
the  eye  can  see  beyond  the  enchanted  ground, 
even  to  the  eternal  city,  whose  walls  are  of  jasper, 
and  the  buildings  thereof  pure  gold,  clear  as  crys 
tal.  Move  on,  steadily,  bravely,  like  old  Chris 
tian  ;  ever  looking  upwards  for  strength  and 
comfort.  All  must  come  out  right  in  the  end. 
God  will  surely  bring  it  to  pass." 

Mrs.  Congreve  bent  towards  my  wife,  and  looked 
at  her  wonderingly. 

"  Has  Aunt  Mary  told  you  ?"  she  asked,  almost 
in  a  whisper. 

"Told  me  of  what?1' 

Mrs.  Congreve  drew  away,  like  one  conscious 
of  having  unwittingly  half  betrayed  herself. 
There  succeeded  a  long  pause,  in  which  I  withdrew 
from  the  parlor.  Soon  after,  they  followed  me, 
but  passed  the  sitting-room  and  went  to  my  wife's 
chamber.  In  about  twenty  minutes  Alice  came 
alone,  and  said  that  Mrs.  Congreve  would  sleep 
that  night  with  her. 

"I  would  not  feel  safe,"  she  said,  "  to  leave  her 


90  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

in  a  room  alone.  Aunt  Mary  always  sleeps  with 
her." 

This  I  thought  but  common  prudence.  She 
stayed  with  me  only  a  few  minutes,  and  then  went 
back  to  Mrs.  Congreve.  I  slept  in  the  room 
adjoining,  and,  for  full  two  hours  after  I  was  in 
bed,  heard  the  low  murmur  of  voices ;  or,  rather, 
for  the  most  part,  of  a  single  voice,  which  I  knew 
to  be  that  of  our  visitor. 

The  eyes  of  my  wife,  when  I  looked  into  them 
on  the  next  morning,  were  full  of  mysterious  intel 
ligence. 

"I  have  such  a  story  to  relate  I  "  she  said  in  a 
half  whisper. 

"Of  Edgar ?  "  I  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  He  has  not  been  murdered  ?  " 

"No — no.  He  is  living,  I  trust,  and,  what  is 
best  of  all,  innocent !  " 

"  Thank  God  for  that !     But  where  is  he  ?  " 

Alice  shook  her  head.     "  It  is  not  known." 

"  Did  you  tell  her  that  you  knew  Edgar  ?  That 
he  was  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  kept  this  concealed.     Was  I  not  right  ?  " 

"I  think  so." 

The  sound  of  Mrs.  Congreve's  step  in  the  pas 
sage,  as  she  came  out  of  the  chamber  where  she 
had  passed  the  night  with  my  wife,  was  now 
heard,  and  Alice  left  me  to  join  her.  We  met  at 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  91 

the  breakfast  table.  I  read  the  face  of  Mrs.  Con- 
greve  with  curious  interest,  as  she  sat  nearly  oppo 
site.  I  had  only  seen  it  in  the  gas-light  before, 
except  in  a  casual  glance  as  she  stood  at  the  win 
dow  of  her  own  house.  Her  deep  black  made  its 
whiteness  unnatural.  She  looked  very  young ; 
even  with  the  signs  of  suffering  so  strongly  im 
pressed  on  every  feature,  not  over  twenty-five. 
Her  eyes  were  large,  clear,  of  great  depth,  and  sin 
gular  beauty.  When  the  light  of  a  happy  heart 
was  in  them  they  must  have  charmed  and  bewitched 
almost  every  beholder.  The  style  of  her  face  was 
not  strictly  classic;  but,  while  very  pure  and  deli 
cate,  with  something  more  passionate  than  is  seen 
in  the  Grecian  outline,  her  mouth  did  not  express 
strength  of  character.  You  saw  that  feeling 
would  rule,  under  strong  excitement,  even  against 
reason.  So  the  face  impressed  me. 

She  said  very  little  during  the  meal,  and  ate 
scarcely  anything.  It  was  plain  that  she  felt  her 
self  in  an  embarrassed  position,  as  far  as  I  was 
concerned.  And  no  wonder. 

On  my  return  at  dinner-time  I  found  Mrs.  Con- 
greve  still  an  inmate  of  my  house.  I  learned 
from  Alice  that  Aunt  Mary  had  been  in,  and  tried 
in  vain  to  persuade  her  to  go  back. 

"  Not  while  he  is  in  the  house  !  "  was  her  reso 
lute  answer. 

Still  Aunt  Mary  urged  her  niece  in  her  gentle. 


92  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

earnest  way,  using  arguments  founded  on  duty 
and  high  religious  obligations,  when  Mrs.  Con- 
greve  exclaimed,  passionately, 

"  I  will  not  go  back  !  I  hate  and  loathe  him  ! 
His  very  name  is  an  offence  to  rne ! " 

Fearful  that  her  mind  might  be  thrown  again 
from  its  equipoise,  it  was  thought  best  to  permit 
her,  for  the  present,  to  have  her  way.  She  did 
not  come  from  her  room  at  dinner-time.  My  wife 
gave  me  a  few  passages  from  the  long  history  to 
which  she  had  listened  during  the  previous  night. 
They  made  my  ears  tingle.  The  full  narrative  I 
give  in  succeeding  chapters,  related  in  the  words 
of  Mrs.  Congreve  herself. 


I'HS   CORNEB   HOUSE.  98 


CHAPTER    X. 

•F  I  am  not  in  a  dream,  life  is  indeed 
a   fearful  thing — that  is,  my  life. 
Sometimes    I    persuade     myself 
that   I  am  only  dreaming ;    that 
a  nightmare  is  resting  on  me,  and 
I  try  to  arouse  myself.    But  I  still  dream 
on  in  the  same  wretched  way. 

I  had  another  dream  once — I  will  call 
it  a  dream,  for  there  came  a  sudden  and 
wild  awakening.  Oh,  it  was  a  sweet, 
sweet,  delicious  dream  of  heaven  on  the  earth ! 
But  I  am  losing  myself.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  of 
my  past  life ;  to  tell  you  a  story  that  will  give  you 
the  heart-ache.  Shall  I  go  on  ? 

My  father  was  a  physician  in  the  West.  Where, 
I  will  not  say  now.  I  was  his  only  child,  and 
he  was  very  ambitious  in  regard  to  me.  Every 
advantage  of  education  was  afforded,  and  every 
possible  accomplishment  sought  to  be  engrafted. 
The  discipline  of  my  girlish  life  was  severe  enough 


94  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

to  diminish  much  of  its  enjoyment.  But  I  had 
a  quick  mind  and  buoyant  feelings.  These  pre 
vented  the  breaking  down  of  my  spirits  under  a 
pressure  of  tasks  that  were  not  portioned  out  by 
my  teachers  with  any  kind  of  judgment  or  discre 
tion. 

When  I  was  twelve  years  old,  my  mother  died  ; 
but  her  place  was  supplied  to  me  by  dear  Aunt 
Mary,  her  sister,  the  wisest  and  best  woman  that 
ever  lived.  In  my  nineteenth  year  I  came  home 
from  school,  having  completed  the  course  of  educa 
tion  assigned  to  me.  My  heart  was  free,  as  it  had 
always  been.  There  was  hardly  a  girl  of  my  age 
in  the  Academy,  who  had  not,  either  in  sport 
or  earnest,  encouraged  a  lover.  But  my  fancies  did 
not  run  in  that  way.  Young  men,  at  least  those  it 
had  been  my  fortune  to  meet,  were  not,  in  anything, 
up  to  my  ideal  of  the  sex.  I  had  an  ideal.  Not 
one  dwelt  upon  in  waking  dreams,  however.  It 
was  more  an  unconscious  than  a  fondly  cherished 
ideal.  I  can  say  that  up  to  this  period  of  my  life 
I  had  seen  in  no  man's  face  anything  that  gave  my 
heart  a  quicker  motionr— anything  that  I  felt  as  a 
peculiar  attraction — anything  that  dwelt  with  me 
hauntingly  when  alone.  Yet  was  I  conscious  of  a 
deep  capacity  for  loving.  There  was  in  my 
thought  faintly  imaged,  a  home,  in  which  I  dwelt 
as  in  a  kind  of  earthly  paradise ;  a  home  such 
as  I  had  never  seen,  yet  had  faith  in  as  a  possi- 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  95 

bility.     There  was  no  selfish  worldliness  in  this 
home  ;  but  the  concord  of  all  sweet  affections. 

My  father  was  a  man  whose  hard  struggle 
with  life  had  made  him  set  an  undue  value 
upon  wealth  as  a  means  of  happiness.  I  think 
that  in  educating  me  with  such  care  as  he  evinced, 
the  leading  thought  in  his  mind  was  my  prepara 
tion  for  what  he  would  consider  an  advantageous 
marriage  :  money  and  position  being  regarded  as 
the  chief  prerequisite.  I  can  only  account  for  this 
blindness  of  judgment  in  a  man  who  saw  so  clearly 
in  most  cases,  in  the  way  just  intimated.  His  long 
struggle  with  poverty,  and  the  pains  and  disabilities 
thereby  entailed,  caused  him  to  magnify  riches  as 
the  highest  attainable  earthly  good ;  or,  rather,  as 
the  means  of  reaching  all  good  the  world  had  to 
offer.  His  education  and  high  professional  stand 
ing  made  him  a  man  of  rank  in  the  community, 
and  naturally  singled  me  out,  and  gave  me  a  cer 
tain  distinctive  position  when  I  entered  society. 
My  beauty — the  homage  of  admiring  eyes,  the 
image  in  my  glass,  the  words  not  spoken  for  rny 
ears  that  reached  them,  all  told  me  that  I  was 
beautiful — added  to  other  and  higher  attractions 
of  the  mind,  soon  drew  a  crowd  around  me. 
There  was  more  than  one  of  these  to  whom  my 
father  would  hare  given  his  daughter  in  marriage, 
without  a  sign  of  hesitation.  * 

One  day,  a  few  weeks  after  my  return   home 


96  OUB   NEIGHBORS    IN 

from  school,  as  I  sat  at  the  window,  looking  out 
into  the  flower-garden  that  lay  in  front  of  our  small 
but  tasteful  dwelling,  I  heard  the  gate  open,  and 
casting  my  eyes  down  the  walk,  saw  a  young  man 
enter  and  approach  the  house.  Something  in  his 
face,  as  our  eyes  met,  held  my  gaze,  until  he 
passed  from  sight  under  the  vine-covered  portico. 
As  he  rang  the  bell,  my  heart  gave  a  little  bound, 
and  then  fluttered  strangely  for  a  moment.  My 
father's  office  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall.  I 
sat  listening,  until  a  servant  opened  the  door;  and 
then  I  heard  the  young  man  enter  and  go  into  the 
office.  In  a  few  minutes  he  came  out,  and  I  heard 
the  front  door  shut.  I  looked  from  the  window, 
and  saw  him  move  down  the  walk.  After  passing 
through  the  gate,  he  paused  to  close  it,  and  in  doing, 
so,  turned  his  face  towards  the  window  at  which  I 
was  still  seated.  Our  eyes  met  again,  and  again 
mine  rested  in  his,  until  he  turned  from  me  and 
walked  down  the  street.  I  did  not  attempt  to 
withdraw  my  eyes;  and  I  doubt  if  I  possessed 
power  to  do  so.  Again  my  heart  gave  a  little 
throb,  and  again  fluttered  in  a  strange,  new  way.. 
At  this  instant  I  heard  the  office  door  open 
quickly.  My  father  came  out,  crossed  the  hall,  and 
looked  into  the  parlor.  He  did  riot  speak,  but 
I  saw  his  brows  contract  a  little,  as  his  eyes  rested 
upon  me  steadily,  and  I  thought  with  a  shade  of 
suspicion  in  them,  for  a  prolonged  moment.  I  was 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  97 

conscious  that  my  cheeks  grew  suddenly  warmer, 
and  that  my  manner  lost  its  quiet  self-possession. 
He  went  back  to  his  office  without  speaking. 

It  was  plain  to  me  that  my  father  had  seen  the 
young  man  pause  and  look  towards  the  parlor 
window,  and  that  he  had  left  his  office  to  see  if  I 
were  sitting  there.  This  fact  bound  the  other 
fact  in  my  mind,  and  gave  it  a  more  distinct 
impression ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  I  felt,  painfully, 
that  I  was  not  to  be  left  free  in  any  matter  of  the 
heart.  I  had  already  discovered  a  certain  worldli- 
ness,  as  it  then  struck  me,  in  my  father ;  a  look 
ing  to  wealth  and  social  standing  as  higher  than 
personal  qualities. 

"  And  am  I  to  be  sacrificed  to  these  !  "  said  I,  as 
I  sat  that  day  at  the  window,  with  my  eyes  upon 
the  little  gate  through  which-  the  stranger  had 
passed,  and,  in  passing,  left  his  image  in  rny  mind. 
And,  then  and  there,  I  said,  resolutely,  "  Never !  " 

At  dinner-time  I  discovered,  two  or  three  times, 
in  looking  up  suddenly,  my  father's  eye  fixed  in 
tently  on  my  face,  and  each  time  I  was  conscious 
of  a  heightened  color.  Naturally  enough,  I  con 
nected  this  unusual  scrutiny  of  my  countenance 
with  the  incident  of  the  morning,  and  so  the  inci 
dent  was  kept  more  vividly  in  thought. 

All  at  once  I  seemed  awakening  to  a  new  con 
sciousness.  When  my  head  went  down  upon  its 
pillow  that  night  I  was  not  the  same  being  in  all 
5 


98  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

things  who  had  arisen  from  quiet  dreams  in  the 
morning.  An  inner  world,  in  which  I  moved 
vaguely,  I  saw,  indistinctly,  had  opened  upon  me. 
I  felt  an  indefinite  yearning  after  something  that 
included  the  happiness  of  my  life;  and  with  it 
came  a  fear  that  this  something  would  for  ever 
elude  my  grasp.  I  had  passed  from  girlhood  to 
womanhood  in  a  single  hour ! 

I  can  never  forget  that  first  night  of  my  new 
consciousness.  I  slept  and  awoke  many  times — 
the  hours  lapsing  away  in  wakeful  musings,  or 
sleeping  dreams — sweet,  weird,  bewildering  phan 
tasies,  that  haunted  me  long  afterwards  with  their 
delicious  memories. 

On  the  next  morning,  as  we  met  at  the  break 
fast-table,  I  saw  that  the  new  interest  in  my 
father's  mind  had  not  died  out.  I  was  changed 
in  something,  and  it  was  plain  to  me  that  he  saw 
it.  My  usual  vivacity  was  gone,  and  so  was  my 
usual  keen  appetite. 

"Are  you  not  well,  Edith?"  asked  my  father. 

I  tried  to  smile  indifferently  as  I  answered  that 
I  was  very  well ;  but  the  expression  of  my  face 
by  no  means  satisfied  -him.  He  looked  uneasy 
and  concerned.  As  he  arose  from  the  table  at  the 
conclusion  of  breakfast,  he  came  around  to  where 
I  was  sitting,  and  laid  his  fingers  on  my  wrist. 

"Your  pulse  beats  rather  quickly,"  he  remark 
ed.  "  Didn't  you  sleep  well  ?  " 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  99 

"  Not  very  well,"  I  replied. 

He  scanned  rny  face  closely,  and  then  left  us 
and  went  to  his  office  to  attend  to  some  patients 
who  had  called.  From  the  breakfast-room  I  passed 
to  the  parlor,  and  sat  down  at  the  window  over 
looking  the  garden  at  the  front  of  the  house. 
Usually  I  practised  on  the  piano  immediately 
after  breakfast ;  but  I  felt  no  desire  now  to  touch 
the  instrument,  although  I  was  extremely  fond  of 
music,  and  had  acquired  considerable  skill  as  a 
performer.  I  had  taken  a  book  from  the  centre- 
table  and  laid  it  open  in  my  lap,  but  not  to  read, 
so  quickly  was  I  learning  the  art  of  concealment, 
In  a  little  while  Aunt  Mary — she  had  lived  with 
us  since  my  mother's  death — came  in  and  lin 
gered,  talking  for  some  time.  How  I  wished  she 
would  leave  me  alone !  It  was  the  first  time  in 
all  my  life  that  I  had  felt  her  presence  an  unwel 
come  one. 

"  Don't  you  feel  well  enough  to  practise  ?  "  she 
asked,  coming  to  the  window,  and  laying  her  hand 
on  my  shoulder  in  her  affectionate  way. 

('0h,  yes,  I'm  well  enough,"  I  answered;  abut 
the  practising  humor  is  not  on  me  this  morning." 

Just  then  I  heard  the  gate-latch  click.  Look 
ing  up,  I  met  the  face  that  had  haunted  me  since 
yesterday.  I  did  not  stir  nor  speak  until  it  passed 
from  sight  beneath  the  portico,  and  the  distant 
tinkling  of  the  door-bell  came  to  my  ears. 


100  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  I  must  say  a  word  to  that  young  man,"  re 
marked  Aunt  Mary,  leaving  the  window  and  go 
ing  quickly  from  the  parlor.  For  a  short  time  I 
heard  them  speaking  together  in  the  hall,  in  what 
seemed  a  familiar  way;  but  nothing  of  what  they 
said  came  to  my  ears.  Then  I  heard  him  go  into 
my  father's  office',  and  Aunt  Mary's  footsteps  sound 
on  the  stairs  as  she  ascended  to  the  rooms  above. 

"  She  knows  him  !  "  The  words  moved,  in  a 
whispered  ejaculation,  on  my  lips. 

It  was  full  ten  minutes  before  the  young  man 
left  my  father  and  passed  from  the  house.  Pie 
moved  with  quick  steps  down  the  walk,  opened 
and  shut  the  gate,  then  stood  on  the  outside,  and 
looked  towards  the  window  at  which  I  was  seated. 
Our  eyes  met  as  on  the  day  before.  There  was 
no  sign  of  recognition  on  his  part;  nothing  like 
a  smile,  or  shade  of  presuming  familiarity  ;  but 
a  half  wonder,  blended  with  admiration,  in  his 
eyes,  and  a  deep  seriousness  on  his  handsome 
countenance.  What  he  read  in  my  face  I  could 
not  tell,  for  I  was  unconscious  of  what  it  express 
ed.  He  stood,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  scarcely  an 
instant,  and  then  walked  hastily  away.  I  had  not 
stirred,  nor  taken  any  note  of  outward  things, 
when  I  heard  my  name  uttered,  in  rather  a  stern 
voice,  by  my  father. 

Starting  up,  I  turned  upon  him  a  crimsoning 
face. 


THE   CORNER   HtfU%&        V   •«       "^      101 


"Do  you  know 
eye  reading  my  face  with  an  eagerness  of  gaze  I 
had  never  experienced  before.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
was  looking  right  down  into  my  thoughts. 

"  I  do  not."    My  answer  was  a  stammering  one. 

"  Edith,  take  care  !  Don't  deceive  me  !  "  My 
father  had  grown  calmer  than  when  he  first  spoke 
— calmer,  at  least,  externally. 

"  Why  should  I  deceive  you?  "  I  asked,  regain 
ing  my  self-possession,  and  looking  up  into  his 
face  with  a  gaze  so  steady  that  his  eyes  turned 
aside. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  him  ?  "  He  spoke  in 
evident  relief. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  You  observed  him  yesterday  ?  " 

I  said  "  Yes "  with  what  indifference  I  could 
assume. 

"  And  again  to-day  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Evidently,"  said  my  father,  "he  put  himself 
out  to  attract  your  attention.  There  was  no  occa 
sion  for  his  call  here  to-day.  It  was  only  an  ex 
cuse.  I  know  him  well ;  and  I  tell  you  now, 
Edith,  to  beware  of  him.  He's  a  presuming  up 
start!" 

I  did  not  answer.  How  could  I?  But  my 
father  seemed  to  expect  me  to  say  something, 
and  stood  gazing  down  upon  me.  My  eyes  had 


102  r   V-    ;  <?tfK   ^JSIGHBOKS   IN 


'fajlpa  te;tWfltJov,  bufcr£  feU  that  his  were  on  my 
face,  reading  it  as  intently  as  if  he  were  scanning 
the  pages  of  a  book.  He  was  not  satisfied ;  and 
no  wonder.  To  such  an  injunction,  no  response 
but  a  full,  out-spoken  one,  can  be  satisfactory. 
If  I  had  smiled  indifferently,  and  spoken  in  a  light, 
careless  way  of  the  young  man,  as  of  one  about 
whom  I  knew  nothing  and  cared  less,  my  father 
would  have  accepted  the  affirmation  with  a  mind 
partly  assured  at  least.  But  silence  and  uncon 
cealed  embarrassment  left  him  on  a  sea  of  doubt. 
He  would  have  been  a  wiser  man  had  he  left  me 
without  deepening  still  further  the  impression  he 
had  made;  without  setting  the  image  of  that 
young  man  in  my  memory  in  a  circle  of  pain, 
where  it  would  ever  after  be  distinctly  visible. 

"  You  understand  me,  Edith ! "  His  voice  was 
imperative. 

What  could  I  say?  He  was  pressing  me  too 
closely.  My  father  moved  back  a  step  or  two, 
and  then  stood  still.  I  did  not  look  up,  but  I 
knew  that  he  was  regarding  my  face  and  attitude 
with  an  eagle-eyed  scrutiny.  Slowly,  at  last,  he 
turned  from  me,  and  I  was  alone.  With  steps 
that  scarcely  left  a  sound  behind  them,  I  went  up 
to  my  room,  shut  the  door,  and  locked  it.  My 
heart  was  beating  almost  wildly.  Why  should 
my  father  act  in  so  strange  a  way?  Who  was  this 
young  man,  that  his  daring  to  look  towards  me 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  103 

should  occasion  so  much  disturbance?  Aunt 
Mary  knew  him.  When  she  said  that  she  must 
speak  a  word  with  him,  there  was  nothing  in  her 
voice  or  manner  that  could  be  construed  into  re 
pulsion  or  dislike.  She  had  talked  with  him  in  a 
familiar  way,  as  the  sound  of  their  voices,  which 
came  to  my  ears,  plainly  intimated.  All  these 
things  floated  in  my  thoughts,  and  were  dwelt 
upon,  as  I  sat  dreaming,  musing  and  pondering, 
in  a  new  and  strange  state  of  mind,  for  a  long 
time.  As  for  the  yet  unknown  person,  whose 
single  glance  towards  me  had  so  greatly  disturbed 
my  father,  he  had  become  invested  with  vaguely 
imagined  but  imposing  attributes.  He  could  be 
no  ordinary  young  man,  that  was  clear,  or  my 
father  would  have  cared  nothing  for  him.  I  was 
satisfied  of  this.  His  face  I  had  seen  twice.  I 
might  not  have  remembered  it  very  distinctly, 
but  for  the  spur  to  memory  which  I  had  received. 
Now  I  recalled  and  dwelt  upon  it,  until  I  knew 
every  feature  as  well  as  if  his  miniature  had  been 
in  my  hands.  It  was  a  handsome,  intelligent, 
manly  face,  full  of  noble  feelings.  Just  the  face 
to  make  an  impression  on  a  woman's  heart.  It 
had  made  already  on  mine  an  ineffaceable  impres 
sion. 

"  Here  is  my  destiny ! "  said  I  at  last,  as  the 
image  gained  newer  and  newer  distinctness  in  rny 
thought.  "  I  have  neither  stepped  aside  nor  for- 


104  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

ward  to  meet  it ;  I  have  not  sought  it  in  restless 
infatuation.  It  has  met  me  in  the  way,  and  I  can 
not  pass  it  by  if  I  would !  " 

It  had  been  my  purpose  to  ask  Aunt  Mary 
about  the  young  man,  but  now  I  changed  this  in 
tention.  I  would  wait  and  let  events  shape  them 
selves.  That  we  should  meet,  face  to  face  and  at 
no  distant  period,  I  felt  certain.  Till  then,  I  would 
be  silent  to  every  one. 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  105 


CHAPTER  XL 

Y  father's  uneasiness  could  not 
be  concealed.  When  we  met 
again  at  dinner-time,  and  in  the 
evening,  I  would  detect  his 
eyes,  if  I  looked  up  at  him  sud 
denly,  fixed  upon  my  countenance 
with  a  look  of  earnest  inquiry.  His  con 
cern  obliterated  from  his  mind  all  percep 
tive  wisdom.  If  he  had  reflected  for  a 
moment,  he  must  have  seen  that  his  con 
duct  was  calculated  to  give  the  matter  an  undue 
importance  in  my  eyes — to  turn  my  thoughts 
towards  the  young  man  instead  of  away  from  him. 
On  the  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  I  went 
into  the  parlor  again.  But  not,  as  on  the  day  be 
fore,  to  linger  at  the  window,  waiting  for  the 
stranger's  appearance,  should  he  call  again.  I  sat 
down  at  the  piano,  with  my  back  to  the  window, 
and  commenced  playing.  This  would  satisfy  my 
father,  and  assure  him,  if  the  young  man  came, 
that  I  would  remain  in  ignorance  of  the  fact.  How 


106  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

far  was  it  from  his  imagination  that  I  played  and 
sang  to  each  visitor  who  called — I  could  hear 
every  ring  of  the  bell  and  every  footfall  in  the 
passage — in  the  hope  that  ears  I  longed  already  to 
penetrate  with  my  voice,  would  take  in  the  melo 
dies  that  passed,  warbling,  full  of  heart-warmth, 
from  my  lips. 

Thus  I  played  and  sang  until  the  close  of  my 
father's  office  hours.  How  much  I  desired  to 
know  whether  the  young  man  had  called.  It  was 
several  times  on  my  lips  to  put  the  question  to 
Aunt  Mary.  But  a  dictate  of  prudence  restrained 
me.  I  must  for  the  present,  at  least,  keep  my 
own  secret  beyond  the  danger  of  betrayal. 

"  You  look  dull  this  morning,"  said  Aunt 
Mary.  "  Are  you  not  staying  in  the  house  too 
much  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  was  my  reply. 

"Put  on  your  things  and  take  a  walk,  and 
make  some  calls." 

Just  the  suggestion  that  pleased  me. 

"I  think  the  fresh  air  of  this  beautiful  day 
would  put^iew  life  into  my  veins."  And  I  went 
to  my  room  and  dressed  myself  with  more  than 
usual  carefulness.  Was  I  thus  careful  for  com 
mon  eyes  ?  No  I  "What  then  ?  Did  I  expect  to 
meet  "  my  destiny" — and  was  I  attiring  myself 
for  him?  I  will  not  answer  "yea"  nor  "nay." 
My  state  of  mind  was  not  clear  to  me.  I  acted 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  107 

from  something  like  a  double  consciousness.  I 
was  led  by  an  impulse  that  I  neither  sought  to 
define  nor  to  control.  Yet,  all  the  while,  away 
down  .in  my  heart,  was  a  low,  delicious  thrill — 
half  pain,  half  pleasure. 

It  was  a  calm,  sweet,  summer  day,  with  the 
bluest  of  blue  skies  bending  over  the  flower- 
gemmed  earth.  The  air  was  clear  as  crystal,  and 
I  drank  it  in  like  an  elixir  of  life,  as  I  passed 
through  the  garden  gate,  and  walked  with  light 
steps  down  the  broad  pavement,  on  which  lay 
the  still,  dense  shadows  from  trees  in  which  the 
winds  slept  pulseless.  Our  house  stood  a  little 
way  from  the  business  portion  of  the  town,  in  a 
part  where  many  handsome  dwellings  had  been 
erected.  They  stretched  along  for  many  squares, 
each  with  its  little  garden  in  front  glowing  with 
flowers,  and  filling  the  air  with  perfume.  I  had 
friends  in  some  of  these  houses,  and  at  almost  any 
other  time  I  would  have  found  more  pleasure  in 
calling  than  in  continuing  a  solitary  walk.  But, 
scarcely  looking  from  the  right  to  the  left,  I  kept 
on,  until  I  reached  the  less  attractive  parts  of  the 
town,  where  the  noise,  and  bustle,  and  rude  jar  of 
business  stunned  the  quiet  ear. 

I  was  in  a  strange  state  of  mind ;  and  I  knew 
it.  A  dreamy,  expectant  state.  Suddenly  I  was 
startled  by  a  confused  noise  in  the  street  behind 
me — the  sound  of  hoofs  arid  wheels  and  quick 


108  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

warning  voices.  I  stood  still  in  vague  alarm ; 
and  as  I  turned  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
tumult  came,  I  saw  a  horse  and  wagon  dashing 
down  towards  me.  I  was  near  the  curb ;  but,  like 
one  in  a  nightmare,  I  could  not  move.  Quick 
falling  terror  had  paralysed  me.  In  a  moment 
more,  the  frightened  animal,  who  came  onwards 
with  widely  springing  feet,  fluttering  mane,  and 
distended  nostrils,  would  have  struck  me  with  his 
iron  hoofs,  when  I  was  seized  by  strong  arms  and 
carried  back  from  the  point  of  danger.  Scarcely 
had  I  left  the  spot,  when  the  horse  swept  by  like 
a  fury. 

"  Thank  God,  you  are  safe  !  " 

I  did  not  know  the  voice.  It  was  disturbed, 
and  full  of  interest  and  gratitude,  like  the  voice 
of  one  who  had  saved  the  life  of  a  beloved  object. 
I  was  leaning  against  him  heavily,  for  I  had  be 
come  weak  as  a  child,  and  could  not  support 
myself.  Eemembering  that  I  was  in  the  street, 
and  seeing  a  little  crowd  of  persons  beginning  to 
gather,  one  and  another  of  whom  were  asking 
whether  I  was  hurt  or  not,  I  made  an  effort  to 
rally  myself,  and  was  successful.  Disengaging 
my  person  from  the  arm  by  which  I  was  still  sup 
ported,  I  stood  up  firmly,  and  turned  to  look  into 
the  face  of  my  rescuer  and  thank  him.  But, 
when  I  saw  his  face,  I  was  dumb.  Not  a  word  of 
utterance  was  on  my  lips.  I  could  not  make 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  109 

a  sound.  Only  with  my  eyes  did  I  reward 
him. 

The  exclamation  of  Aunt  Mary,  when  I  arrived 
at  home,  told  how  much  the  circumstance  had  dis 
turbed  me. 

"  What  has  happened  ? "  she  asked,  with  alarm 
pictured  in  her  face. 

I  related  the  incident  of  the  runaway  horse, 
mentioning  that  I  had  been  pulled  back  just  in 
time  to  save  me,  but  said  nothing  in  regard  to 
the  individual  to  whom  I  owed  my  life.  My 
father  heard,  incidentally,  of  the  circumstance, 
and  hurried  home  in  some  alarm,  arriving  soon 
alter  me.  My  face  was  still  pale,  and  rny  nerves 
disturbed.  He  made  particular  inquiries  into  all 
the  circumstances,  and  asked  who  had  rescued 
me.  I  felt  his  eyes  on  my  face,  as  I  turned  mine 
partly  aside,  and  answered,  truly,  that  I  did  not 
know.  And  yet  I  did  know  my  rescuer  to  be  the 
young  man  whose  presumption  in  looking  to 
wards  me  had  so  troubled  my  father.  But  who 
was  he  ?  His  name  and  personality  were  yet  un 
known  to  me. 

"Did  you  see  his  face?"  asked  my  father. 

"  Only  for  an  instant,  as  I  recovered  from  the 
sudden  fright,  and  got  away  as  quickly  as  possi 
ble  from  the  crowd  that  began  to  gather  around 
me." 

My  father  was  silent  for  a  little  while,  and,  aa 


110  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

I  could  see,  not  at  ease  in  his  mind.  Is  it  possi* 
ble,  thought  I,  that  he  has  learned  who  it  was 
that  put  forth  so  timely  a  saying  hand? 

"If  you  should  learn  who  it  was,"  said  1, 
"thank  him  in  my  name." 

"  We,  indeed,  owe  him  thanks."  My  father 
spoke  with  some  feeling. 

The  incident  coming  to  the  ears  of  several  in 
timate  friends,  there  were  a  dozen  calls  during 
the  day.  Some  had  heard  that  I  was  seriously 
injured;  others  that  I  had  fainted  from  alarm; 
and  others  some  version  of  the  case  about  as  near 
the  truth. 

"You  had  quite  an  adventure,  I  hear,"  said 
one  lady,  looking  less  serious  than  most  of  our 
friends  had  been  in  referring  to  the  matter.  "A 
sudden  danger,  a  fright,  a  fainting  fit,  and  a  nice 
young  man  to  the  rescue,  just  in  the  nick  of 
time ! " 

"  Oh,  no,  no!"  I  answered;  "you  are  wide  of 
the  truth.  There  was  no  fainting  in  the  case." 

"  But  a  nice  young  man,  ha,  my  pretty  lady  I 
That  part  of  the  story,  at  least,  is  true." 

"  I  was  saved  by  a  stranger,"  said*!. 

"  Are  you  sure?  " 

"Very  sure."  I  spoke  in  a  tone  of  confi 
dence. 

The  visitor  looked  at  Aunt  Mary. 

"  You.  know  who  it  was  ?  " 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  Ill 

Aunt  Mary  shook  her  head. 

"Is  it  possible!" 

"  Quite  so." 

"  Didn't  the  doctor  tell  you?  " 

"  No.  I  think  he  is  quite  as  ignorant  as  we 
are,"  said  Aunt  Mary. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  My  husband  came  up  a  few 
moments  after  the  incident,  and  saw  the  'noble 
youth '  who  had  risked  his  life  in  the  cause  of 
beauty.  From  him  the  doctor  learned  the  name 
of  that  'noble  youth.'  And  he  has  kept  it  a 
secret !  Well,  'pon  my  honor !  " 

"Who  was  it?  "  asked  Aunt  Mary. 

"  Fairfield  &  Co.'s  handsome  clerk.  You  know 
him." 

"Mr.  Holman?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  it  possible !"    * 

My  aunt  looked  surprised;  but  there  was  no 
special  meaning  in  her  eyes  as  she  turned  them 
upon  my  face. 

"  It  is.  singular,"  she  remarked,  "  that  the  doc 
tor  did  not  mention  his  name.  He  knows  him 
very  well." 

"  He  was  afraid,  I  suppose,  of  this  young  lady's 
heart.  Gratitude  is  often  the  parent  of  love.  Are 
you  very  susceptible,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  was  thought  cold-hearted  at  school,"  said  I, 
putting  on  an  air  of  indifference. 


112  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

"  But  had  a  lover  for  all  that/' 

"  No.  I  am  still  heart-free."  I  tried  to  speak 
gaily,  but  don't  think  I  succeeded. 

"Well,  well,  child,"  said  the  visitor,  in  her 
light,  thoughtless  manner,  "  Cupid  has  drawn  a 
bow  for  you  now ;  and  the  arrow  is  on  its  way.' 
Then  turning  to  Aunt  Mary,  she  added — 

"  It  was  a  narrow  escape,  I  hear ;  and  you  owe 
the  young  man  a  debt  of  gratitude.  His  life,  they 
say,  was  in  imminent  danger." 

A  clerk  in  Fairfield  &  Co.'s  store,  named  Hoi- 
man  !  So  much  known.  After  the  lady  retired, 
I  said  to  Aunt  Mary — 

"  Then  you  know  this  young  man,  to  whom  we 
are  all  so  much  indebted." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;   very  well,"  she  answered. 

My  ear  was  in  every  tone  of  her  voice ;  but  I 
could  not  discover  a  sign  of  objection.  Many 
questions  came  crowding  to  my  lips ;  but  I  kept 
them  back,  and  hid  the  almost  irrepressible  inter 
est  that  was  in  my  heart. 

"He's  an  excellent  young  man,"  said  Aunt 
Mary,  "  and  quite  a  favorite  with  all  who  know 
him." 

What  music  was  in  the  words !  I  sat  silent, 
but  listening  intently. 

"Handsome,  well  educated,  gentlemanly,  and 
of  irreproachable  character." 

How  little  did  dear  Aunt  Mary  know  of  the 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  113 

sweetness  that  lay  in  these  words  as  they  fell  upon 
my  ears.  "  Handsome,  well  educated,  gentle 
manly,  and  of  irreproachable  character."  They 
were  fixed  in  my  memory,  and  dwelt  upon  as 
testimonials  of  worth  above  all  gainsaying.  I 
would  take  Aunt  Mary's  approval  in  the  face  of  a 
denouncing  world.  How  I. longed  to  press  inquiry 
after  inquiry  ;  but  a  prudent  forethought  made  me 
assume  an  indifference  which  I  did  not  feel.  My 
father's  attitude  towards  the  young  man  was  a 
warning  to  be  circumspect. 

In  the  evening,  as  we  sat  at  the  tea-table,  Aunt 
Mary  said,  addressing  my  father — 

"  So  it  is  young  Edgar  Holman  to  whom  we 
are  so  deeply  indebted  ?  " 

My  father  looked  across  the  table  at  Aunt  Mary 
in  a  cold  way,  and  with  a  glance  of  caution  in  his 
eyes.  I  saw  it,  and  the  effect  upon  my  aunt.  His 
answer  was  a  simple,  indifferently  spoken  "  Yes," 
and  no  more  was  said  on  the  subject. 

One  might  as  well  attempt  to  keep  water  from 
finding  its  level,  as  the  heart  from  obedience  to  its 
native  impulses.  Did  my  father's  strange  conduct 
deaden  the  impulses  of  my  heart  ?  Wo — it  only 
quickened  them ! 

In  less  than  a  week  I  met  Mr.  Holman  at  the 
house  of  one  of  our  friends,  where  a  small  company 
had  been  invited.  I  saw  him  speak  to  the  lady 
whose  guests  we  were,  a  few  minutes  after  I  came  in, 


114  OUE  NEIGHBORS   IN 

when  she  brought  him  to  where  I  was  sitting,  and 
gave  us  a  formal  introduction.  As  he  drew  a 
chair  nearly  in  front  of  me,  and  sat  down,  with 
his  eyes  reading  my  face  as  if  it  were  a  book,  I  said 
to  him — 

"  Let  me,  first  of  all,  thank  you  for  my  life. 
But  for  the  promptness  and  courage  you  displayed, 
I  must  have  been  killed." 

My  voice  trembled,  though  I  tried  to  speak 
calmly,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  deepening  color. 
His  countenance  lighted  up  with  a  glow  of  pleasure, 
and  his  eyes  looked  with  more  than  admiration  on 
my  face. 

"  I  am  only  too  happy,"  he  replied,  "  in  having 
been  the  instrument  of  rescue.  It  was  a  narrow 
escape,"  he  added.  "  If  I  had  been  a  moment 
later,  the  infuriated  horse  would  have  been  upon 
you.  I  have  shuddered  at  the  thought  many  times 
since." 

This  was  our  introduction.  For  the  whole  of 
that  evening,  the  young  man  was  away  from  my 
side  for  scarcely  a  moment.  What  a  charm  for 
my  ears  lay  in  his  voice ;  what  a  fascination  in 
his  eyes,  whenever  I  could  venture  to  look  into 
them ;  what  a  subduing  power  in  his  presence  1 
Every  sentiment  he  uttered  seemed  to  have  in  it 
deeper  meanings  than  the  simple  words  conveyed, 
and  my  thoughts  searched  busily  all  the  while 
for  these  meanings.  When  the  hour  for  sepa- 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  115 

ration  came,  he  asked  to  be  my  escort  home. 
I  knew  that  mj  father  would  call  for  me  in  his 
carnage,  but  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to 
lay  my  hand  upon  the  arm  of  Mr.  Holman,  and 
be  all  alone  with  him  for  the  first  time,  and  so 
accepted  his  invitation.  I  hurried  on  my  things, 
lest  my  father  should  arrive,  and  passed  from  the 
house  with  a  hand  drawn  within  the  arm  of  Edgar 
Holman,  my  consciousness  more  like  that  of  a 
person  in  the  mazes  of  a  sweet  dream  than  of  one 
in  real  life. 

"Where  is  your  father?"  asked  Aunt  Mary, 
when  I  met  her  on  entering  our  house. 

"  I  came  away  before  he  arrived,"  said  I. 

"  How  so  ?  "     She  looked  at  me  narrowly. 

"  The  company  was  dispersing,  and  he  had  not 
come,  so  I  accepted  an  escort.  I  thought  it  possible 
that  he  was  detained  by  some  patient." 

"  Who  came  home  with  you  ?  " 

I  tried  to  speak  in  a  tone  of  indifference,  as  I 
replied — 

"  Mr.  Holman,  my  gallant  rescuer." 

"  I'm  afraid  your  father  will  not  be  pleased," 
said  Aunt  Mary,  looking  at  me  with  a  sober 
face. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

I  believed  her,  but  wished  to  get  at  the  secret 
of  my  father's  too  evident  dislike  of  Edgar 
Holman. 


116  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  He  said  that  he  would  call  for  you  ;  and  it 
will  displease  him  when  he  finds  that  you  went 
home  without  waiting  for  him.  He  is  peculiar, 
you  know." 

But  this  did  not  satisfy  me. 

"  He  doesn't  like  Mr.  Holman,"  said  I. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  My  aunt  looked  at 
me  curiously. 

"  What  is  the  reason  ?"  I  put  my  question 
without  answering  hers. 

"  1  am  not  aware  of  any  dislike  towards  Mr. 
Holrnan,  on  the  part  of  your  father,"  she  replied. 
"  Why  have  you  taken  it  for  granted  ?  Or  has  our 
friend  made  so  free  as  to  venture  a  suggestion  of 
this  nature  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  I  answered  quickly.  "Father 
was  not  referred  to  by  him." 

I  think  from  the  way  Aunt  Mary  looked  at  me, 
that  my  face  betrayed  more  than  I  wished  her  to 
see. 

"  There  is  your  father,  now !  "  she  said,  as  we 
heard  the  door  open,  and  his  unusually  quick 
tread  in  the  passage.  We  were  standing  in  the 
parlor.  He  saw  us,  and  came  in  hastily.  His  face 
was  angry,  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  me,  and  said, 
with  unusual  sternness — 

"  Why  did  you  leave  before  I  came  ?  " 
"  The  company  were  separating,  and  I  thought 
you  might  be  detained  by  some  pressing  call." 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  117 

"  Didn't  I  say  that  I  would  come  for  you?  "  he 
demanded. 

The  tone,  so  angry  and  imperative  beyond  any 
thing  that  I  had  heard,  confounded  me. 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  would  care,"  I  stam 
mered,  my  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"  I  do  care,  then !  And  now  let  me  say  to  you, 
once  for  all,  that  I  will  be  your  attendant  home 
from  evening  visits  and  parties.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

I  made  no  answer.  Kebellion  was  corning  into 
my  heart. 

"Why  don't  you  speak?" 

Still  I  kept  silent.     My  father's  face  was  grow 
ing  dark   with   anger.     At   this    moment   Aunt 
Mary  leaned  towards  him  and  said  something  that 
I  did  not  hear.    "Whatever  it  was,  it  had  an  im 
mediate  influence,  for  I  saw  a  change  in  his  man 
ner.     Without   looking   towards    me,    or   saying 
another  word,  he  left  the  room,  and  crossing  Uiu 
passage,  entered  his  office  and  shut  the  door. 

My  father  had  drawn  the  string  too  tightly,  and 
snapped  the  bow.  I  was  a  rebel  from  that  hour. 
Half  the  night  I  lay  in  a  kind  of  semi-conscious 
elysian  dream.  I  had  met  my  "  destiny,"  face  to 
face ;  and  we  had  looked  away  down  into  each 
other's  eyes,  that  were  only  the  mirrors  of  our 
hearts.  All  hope,  all  happiness,  all  that  made 
life  to  be  desired,  were,  I  felt,  included  in  the  love 


118  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

of  Edgar  Holman.  What  a  strong,  deep-flowing 
passion  had  suddenly  flooded  my  heart.  From  a 
light-thoughted  girl,  I  had  become,  in  a  day,  as  it 
were,  a  full-grown,  thnllingly-conscious  woman. 

"My  father  must  not  attempt  to  thwart  me 
here,"  said  I,  as  I  pondered  in  sober  mood,  on  the 
next  morning,  the  incidents  of  the  evening  before. 
"I  will  render  him  dutiful  obedience  in  all  things 
that  a  daughter  can  render  as  a  daughter.  But, 
as  a  woman,  I  claim  to  be  the  disposer  of  my  own 
heart.  That  is  free,  by  God's  gift ;  and  free  it 
shall  remain  !  Here,  a  father's  authority  does  not 
reach  ;  and  I  will  not  acknowledge  it." 

Bold,  strong'  words  for  a  girl  at  my  age.  But 
I  was  in  earnest.  I  had  been  seized  upon,  as  it 
were,  suddenly  by  a  passion  that  infused  itself 
into  every  element  of  my  being.  Not  so  much 
a  bewildering,  as  a  deeply -penetrating  and  all- 
involving  passion.  Not  agitating  and  blinding, 
but  strong,  clear-seeing/  and  conclusive.  I  no 
more  doubted  the  inspiration  of  love  in  the  heart 
of  Edgar  than  I  doubted  that  which  had  been 
born  in  my  own.  "  We  were  made  for  each 
other,"  said  I,  in  my  strange  confidence.  "  And 
what  Heaven  ordains  is  inevitable." 

There  was  a  cloud  on  my  father's  face  when  we 
met  on  the  next  morning,  but  no  allusion  was 
made  to  the  evening's  disturbing  incident.  Aunt 
Mary  looked  almost  as  sober  as  my  father.  I  no- 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  119 

ticed  several  times  that  she  was  attempting  to 
read  my  countenance.  I  made  it  as  a  sealed  book, 
however.  School-life  had  taught  me  lessons  of 
self-control  and  the  art  of  veiling  the  face,  as  well 
as  more  intellectual  things.  I  was  not  yet  ready 
to  offer  her  my  confidence.  It  was  far  from  her 
thoughts  that  I  had  given  my  heart  away  ere  it 
had  been  asked  for  in  any  language  but  heart- 
language.  That  I  had  passed  in  a  few  hours  from 
a  weak  girl  to  a  strong  woman.  Yet  it  was  so. 


120  OUR   NEIGHBORS 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Y  father  had  gone  out  after  tea 
to  make  a  professional  call,  and 
I  was  dreaming  love's  young 
dreams,  in  an  atmosphere  of 
melody  which  my  own  fingers 
were  weaving,  as  I  sat  at  the  piano, 
when  a  visitor  was  shown  into  the  parlor. 
I  did  not  hear  the  entrance  of  any  one. 
A  slight  sound  caused  me  to  turn,  and 
there  stood  Mr.  Ilolman,  not  more  than  a 
pace  from  me,  his  face  lighted  up  with  an  expression 
that  showed  him  to  have  been  an  almost  entranced 
listener  to  the  music  I  was  drawing  from  my  fine- 
toned  instrument. 

I  felt  glad  to  see  him ;  and  the  gladness  went 
into  my  face  and  told  my  heart's  story. 

"  Don't  stop  playing,"  said  he,  after  I  had  laid 
my  hand  in  his,  with  just  a  little  maiden  shyness 
— felt,  not  assumed.  "  I  love  music — that  is,  good 
music." 

I  turned  to  the  piano  and  played  and  sang  a 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  121 

tender  love-song.  Why  did  I  do  this?  Of  de 
sign  ?  Oh  no !  The  song  came  first  to  my 
thoughts,  and  I  gave  it  to  rny  voice  without  re 
flection.  If  I  had  meant  to  tell  him  what  was  in 
my  heart,  I  could  not  have  done  it  in  more  fitting 
words,  and  I  became  conscious  of  this  as  the  last 
strain  died  on  my  lips.  Then  I  felt  alarmed  lest 
he  should  have  misunderstood  me.  Maiden  deli 
cacy  was  wounded  at  the  thought.  He  did  not 
speak  after  I  had  finished.  In  the  silence,  I  ran 
my  fingers  over  the  keys  to  a  lighter  measure, 
and  flung  my  voice  spiritedly  into  a  patriotic 
song.  This  he  praised  warmly ;  and  then  turning 
over  the  music,  selected  a  nocturne  by  Chopin, 
and  asked  if  I  could  play  it.  It  happened  to  be 
one  of  my  favorite  pieces.  I  had  practised  and 
enjoyed  it  so  many  times  that  I  could  give  the 
sentiment  a  tenderness  equal,  I  had  sometimes 
thought,  to  that  which  filled  the  composer's  mind 
when  he  brought  down  the  chords  and  melodies 
from  that  inner  world  to  which  his  ear  was  opened. 

"  Do  you  like  that  nocturne  ?  "  I  asked,  as  I  laid 
the  music  open  before  me,  looking  around  into  his 
face  as  I  spoke. 

"Yes." 

I  took  my  eyes  from  his,  and  turned  to  read 

the  pages   that  my  fingers  were  to  interpret  for 

him.     Softly,  almost   tremulously,  I  pressed  the 

keys  in  the  tender  opening  passages,  and,  as  I  pro- 

6 


122  OTJB   NEIGHBOES   IN 

gressed,  entering  into  the  theme,  my  touches  obey 
ed  my  feelings  and  I  almost  lost  myself  in  what 
seemed  more  like  an  inspiration  than  a  performance. 
I  had  never  played  with  such  skill  before.  My 
listener  gave  but  few  words  of  praise ;  but  I  saw 
that  his  eyes  were  humid  as  I  looked  up  into  his 
face. 

"  It  is  my  favorite  piece,"  said  I. 

"  And  mine."     He  said  no  more. 

"  Our  favorite  piece !  "  That  was  spoken  in  my 
heart,  perhaps  in  his  also. 

"  How  do  you  like  this  ?  "  And  I  selected  a 
few  passages  from  one  of  Beethoven's  Sonatas — 
passages  that  a  true  lover  of  music  can  never  hear 
without  feeling  himself  on  the  threshold  of  a  new 
world  of  emotion. 

"That  must  be  from  Beethoven,"  he  said,  as 
the  last  note  died  upon  the  ear.  "  How  well  you 
interpret  him  I "  he  added,  as,  bending  over,  he 
read  the  composer's  name. 

Ah,  but  these  few  words  of  praise  were  sweet ! 
And  so  he  loved  music  that  I  loved — music  that 
spoke  to  a  higher  soul-sense  than  existed  in  com 
mon  minds — music  that  stirred  the  heart  in  its 
profounder  depths. 

Then  I  tried  his  appreciation  of  Mozart  and 
Haydn,  and  with  all  the  success  I  desired.  Pas 
sages  that  I  loved  seemed  to  speak  to  him  as  they 
did  to  me,  for  he  asked  me  to  repeat  them  over 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  123 

and  over  again,  each  time  showing,  by  his  remarks, 
a  taste  and  comprehension  higher  than  I  had  found 
in  any  one  since  parting  with  a  school  friend, 
whose  intense  love  of  music  had  helped  me  to 
enter  beyond  the  outer  court  of  harmony. 

"  Do  you  play  ?  "  I  asked,  in  half  surprise  at 
finding  his  ear  so  critical. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "but  I  love  music." 

I  was  turning  the  leaves  of  a  book  for  another 
favorite  piece,  when  my  father's  voice  and  tread 
in  the  hall  sent  the  blood  back,  coldly,  to  rny  heart. 
The  parlor  door  was  pushed  open,  and  he  entered. 
I  was  sitting  at  the  piano,  and  Mr.  Hoi  man  stood 
bending  over  my  shoulder,  looking  at  the  mu 
sic. 

"  My  father,"  said  I,  trying  to  speak  without  the 
betrayal  of  what  I  felt ;  rising  from  the  piano  and 
turning  from  it  as  I  uttered  my  father's  name. 

Mr.  Holman  smiled  in  an  unembarrassed  way, 
and  offering  his  hand,  said  with  a  degree  of  fa 
miliarity  that  showed  him  to  be  no  stranger — 

"  Good  evening  Doctor !  " 

My  father  did  not  take  the  offered  hand,  but 
said — 

"Good  evening,  Edgar."  In  the  coldest  and 
most  unwelcome  way  was  this  uttered. 

My  father  sat  down  on  a  sofa.  Mr.  Holman  sat 
down ;  and  I  took  a  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  room. 


124  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

"It  has  been  a  pleasant  day,"  remarked  Mr. 
Holman. 

My  father  growled,  rather  than  spoke,  an  an 
swer,  which  was  as  uncivil  in  language  as  in 
manner.  I  was  pained  and  indignant. 

Again  our  visitor  made  a  remark,  and  again  my 
father  insulted  him  by  a  curtness  of  reply  that 
could  not  help  stinging  a  sensitive  mind. 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  "  if  I 
have  intruded."  And  he  arose  as  he  spoke. 

I  started  to  my  feet,  with  a  face  all  crimson 
with  mortification  and  anger.  My  father  arose 
also,  but  with  a  cold,  repellent  manner — bowing 
to  our  visitor's  remark,  but  not  answering  it  in 
words. 

"Good  evening  Doctor !"  There  was  a 

gentlemanly  dignity  about  Mr.  Holman,  as  he 
returned  the  bow,  that  was  in  striking  contrast 
with  my  father's  conduct  arid  aspect.  Then  he 
looked  towards  me;  and  our  eyes  met.  I  let  him 
see  more  in  mine  than  I  would  have  dared  to  do 
under  any  other  circumstances ;  and  I  read  in  his 
eyes  enough  to  satisfy  my  heart. 

"Please  remember,"  said  my  father  impera 
tively,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Holman  had  retired,  "  that 
if  that  fellow  calls  here  again,  you  are  not  to  see 
him." 

I  did  not  answer.  The  term  "  fellow,"  as  ap 
plied  to  Edgar  Holman,  seemed  such  an  outrage 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  125 

that  I  felt  too  indignant  to  trust  my  lips  in  a 
response. 

"  Did  you  hear  me  ?  "  demanded  my  father. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  presumed  that  he  will  call 
again,"  said  I,  speaking  with  forced  calmness, 
"  after  the  treatment  he  has  just  received.  Bather 
a  strange  return,  it  strikes  me,  for  a  life  risked  to 
save  your  child's  life  !  " 

My  father  was  a  little  staggered  at  this,  and  I 
saw  it.  He  had  forgotten,  I  will  believe,  in  his 
sudden  displeasure  at  seeing  Edgar,  the  great  obli 
gation  we  all  owed  him. 

"  I  have  my  reasons,  Edith,  for  not  wishing  you 
to  encourage  that  young  man's  visits."  He  spoke 
less  coldly. 

"  If  you  will  state  the  reasons,  father,"  said  I, 
u  you  may  help  me  to  the  means  of  obedience." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  • '  He  turned  upon  me 
in  a  quick,  stern  way. 

"  Father,"  I  spoke  calmly,  for  I  was  growing 
more  and  more  self-possessed  every  moment,  <l  you 
lay  upon  me  a  necessity  for  saying  what  I  would 
rather  a  thousand  times  leave  unsaid." 

The  sternness  of  his  face  did  not  relax.  I  re 
mained  silent,  hoping  that  he  would  see  his  own 
false  position,  and  the  danger  of  driving  me  into 
open  antagonism.  But  it  never  seemed  to  enter 
his  mind  that  I  was  anything  but  a  child,  whose 
will  must  be  subordinate  to  his  will. 


126  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  Speak !  "  he  exclaimed,  at  last. 

I  stood,  still  silent,  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
said,  in  a  low,  but  quiet,  distinct,  and  meaning  voice, 

"I  am  a  woman." 

He  did  not,  at  first,  comprehend  what  I  wished 
him  to  see. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  "  He  spoke  just  a  trifle  sarcas 
tically.  This  quickened  my  pulses. 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  woman ;  and  in  all  matters  where 
the  heart  is  concerned,  answerable  alone  to  God  ! 
Forgive  me  for  saying  this,  but  you  press  me  too 
hard." 

The  blood  that  had  been  burning  in  my  father's 
face  left  it  instantly,  and  he  looked  so  pale  that 
I  became  alarmed. 

"Oh,  sir,"  I  said,  in  a  distressed  voice,  as  I 
came  forward  and  caught  one  of  his  hands  in  mine, 
"I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  or  offend  you.  Don't 
look  so,  father  !  You  frighten  me !  Dear  father !  " 
and  I  laid  my  face  upon  him  and  lost  myself  in 
tears  and  sobs. 

"  Ungrateful  child  !  "  He  pushed  me  resolutely 
away,  while  I  clung  to  him  eagerly. 

"  I  never  thought  to  hear  such  words  from  child 
of  mine ! 

"  Ingratitude !  thou  marble- hearted  fiend, 
More  hideous,  when  thou  show'st  thee  ha  a  child, 
Than  the  Sea  Monster.  " 

And  he  pushed  me  firmly  still  away. 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  127 

But  my  father  overacted  his  part  in  giving  this 
quotation  from  Shakspeare.  His  tone  was  theatric 
enough  to  jar  upon  my  finely  adjusted  ear.  It 
seemed  to  me  like  trifling.  And  so  I  yielded  to 
the  repulsive  hand  that  was  against  me,  and  let  it 
bear  me  back  as  far  as  it  would.  The  color  was 
coming  into  his  face  as  I  looked  up  into  it  again ; 
but  I  think  mine  must  have  been  white  as 
marble,  for  something  in  it  appeared  to  startle 
him. 

"  Go  to  your  room,"  he  said,  with  less  unkind- 
ness  of  tone.  "  We  will  talk  of  this  another 
time." 

But  I  did  not  stir. 

"  Go,  my  child."     His  voice  was  gentler. 

"Not  yet,  father,"  I  said.  "Better  talk  now, 
while  in  the  way  of  this  subject.  It  can  do  no 
good  to  wait."  And  I  sat  down. 

My  father  looked  perplexed.  He  saw  that  in 
me  which  he  had  never  seen  before.  I  had  said 
to  him  that  I  was  a  woman,  and  the  meaning  of 
my  words  was  beginning  to  dawn  upon  his  mind. 
He  knit  his  brows  and  bent  his  eyes,  with  recover 
ing  sternness,  upon  me.  But  I  was  not  intimi 
dated.  I  felt  that  a  struggle  for  womanly  free 
dom  had  been  forced  upon  me,  and  that  I  must 
conquer. 

"  It  was  not  like  you,  father,  to  treat  any  one 
as  you  treated  that  young  man  to-night,"  said  I, 


128  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IK 

coming  to  the  issue  with  a  kind  of  desperate 
courage.  "  If  there  is  anything  wrong  about  him, 
let  me  know  what  it  is.  If  his  life  or  principles 
are  bad  or  if  there  be  any  facts  in  regard  to  him 
that  should  be  thrown  up  as  a  barrier  to  acquaint 
anceship,  speak  of  them  to  me  father.  They  shall 
not  be  disregarded." 

*'  Is  not  my  word  of  disapproval  enough  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  If  I  say  to  my  daughter,  '  Do  not  re 
ceive  a  certain  visitor,'  is  not  that  sufficient  ?  " 

"  It  might  be  under  some  circumstances,  "  I  re 
plied,  firmly.  "  It  is  not  in  this." 

"  Blind,  self-willed  girl !  "  He  lost  himself  in 
passion  again.  I  sat  without  replying,  my  thoughts 
growing  clearer  and  clearer,  and  my  feelings 
calmer. 

"  I  am  older  than  you  are."  My  father,  when 
he  spoke  again,  tried  to  address  my  reason  and 
my  pride.  "  I  have  seen  more  of  the  world.  I 
understand  character  better.  My  judgment  is 
more  matured.  It  is  from  this  superior  state  that 
I  now  speak  to  you,  and  warn  you,  as  you  value 
your  best  interest  in  life,  to  beware  of  this  young 
man.  Keep  yourself  free  from  all  entanglements. 
You  are  young,  and  can  make,  in  time,  the  best 
alliance  our  city  has  to  offer,  if  you  will.  Look 
up,  not  down.  What  is  this  Holman  but  a  clerk  ? 
A  mere  adventurer  from  the  East !  Don't  stoop 
to  him,  when  you  may  win  the  best  and  noblest ! 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  129 

Wait — wait.  Hold  yourself  a  little  in  reserve 
until  you  can  meet  the  best  men  of  our  city — 
men  who  dwarf,  by  comparison,  this  little  pre 
suming  upstart  into  insignificance.1' 

If  my  father  had  sought  to  create  an  interest 
in  my  mind  favorable  to  Mr.  Holman,  he  could 
not  have  taken  a  more  effectual  way.  How  blind 
he  was !  He  knew  human  nature  better  than 
this.  But  his  impatience  threw  all  right  percep 
tion  into  obscurity ;  and  so,  while  he  endeavored 
to  destroy  rny  first  impressions,  he  only  made  them 
stronger. 

We  parted  for  the  night  without  coming  to  a 
mutual  good  understanding.  He  tried  to  extort 
a  promise  that  I  would  repulse  Edgar  Holman  if 
he  made  any  advances  towards  me ;  but  I  an 
swered  that  gratitude  alone  would  require  that  I 
should  always  treat  him  with  considerate  kind 
ness.  He  had  saved  my  life.  Against  this  my 
father  had  no  conclusive  reasons  to  urge,  because 
there  was  nothing  to  be  said  against  the  spotless 
character  of  the  man  who  had  come  so  suddenly 
between  him  and  worldly  ambition. 


130 


OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


"ROM  that  time,  my  father's  man 
ner  towards  me  was  different. 
A  night  of  sober  thought  con 
vinced  him,  without  doubt,  that 
I  possessed  a  quality  and  a  de 
velopment  of  will  that  must  be 
treated  in  a  way  altogether  different  from 
that  in  which  he  had  begun  to  meet  the 
impediment  so  unexpectedly  thrown  in 
his  path.  When  I  met  him  on  the  next 
morning,  he  was  serious  but  kind  in  his  manner ; 
and  with  the  kindness  of  tone  used  in  addressing 
me,  I  now  and  then  detected  a  new  feeling,  which 
seemed  more  like  respect  for  something  he  had 
discovered  in  me  than  aught  else  to  which  I  could 
compare  it. 

The  conclusion  in  my  own  mind  was  natural. 
I  had  shown  myself  too  strong  for  him.  No  feel 
ing  of  triumph  accompanied  this  ;  but  it  gave  me 
a  certain  confidence  in  myself.  As  my  father  had 
assumed  a  new  character,  so  to  speak,  in  order 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  181 

more  surely  to  gain  his  ultimate  purposes  in  regard 
to  me — which  purposes  began  to  dawn  in  my 
thoughts — I  put  on  an  exterior  designed  to  mislead 
him.  I  do  not  think,  however,  that  either  was 
much  deceived  by  the  other. 

I  did  not  tell  Aunt  Mary  about  my  father's 
treatment  of  Mr.  Holman,  nor  allude  to  the  pain 
ful  interview  that  followed.  It  was  at  first  my 
intention  to  do  so,  and  to  take  her  entirely  into 
my  confidence.  But  on  reflection,  I  changed  my 
mind.  For  the  present,  at  least,  I  would  keep 
my  own  counsel.  I  was  satisfied,  from  her  man 
ner,  that  she  was  not  even  aware  that  my  father 
had  seen  Mr.  Holman  in  the  parlor.  Her  pleas 
ant  banter  in  regard  to  my  visitor  gave  me  an 
opportunity  to  ask  some  questions  about  him,  in 
a  casual  way,  as  though  I  had  but  little  interest 
in  her  replies.  I  found  that  he  was  something  of 
a  favorite  with  Aunt  Mary  ;  and  that  she  regarded 
him  as  a  very  superior  young  man.  Her  opi 
nion  of  any  one,  I  would  take  against  the  world, 
so  that  disposed  entirely  of  my  father's  objec 
tions. 

Mr.  Holman  did  not  call  again.  This  was  as 
I  had  expected.  After  my  father's  uncivil  treat 
ment,  self-respect  must  keep  him  away.  I  soon 
became  aware  that  all  my  movements  were  closely 
observed  by  my  father.  If  I  went  out,  he,  some 
how  or  other,  managed  to  cross  my  way  in  the 


132  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

street— sometimes  twice  or  thrice.  If  I  paid  an 
evening  visit,  he  was  sure  to  come  for  me  at  an 
early  hour.  If  I  attended  a  party,  he  was  there 
long  before  the  time  arrived  for  the  company  to 
disperse.  Whenever  it  happened  that  Mr.  II ol- 
man  was  present,  and  ventured  to  come  near  me, 
which  he  always  did,  my  father's  manner  exhi 
bited  disturbance,  and  he  would  use  various  lit 
tle  arts  to  interrupt  our  intercouse,  or  procure  a 
separation  of  one  from  the  other.  This  became 
so  apparent  that  neither  of  us  could  help  notic 
ing  it  or  being  annoyed  thereby.  Is  it  remarka 
ble  that  this  studied  effort  to  keep  us  apart  should 
have  the  effect  to  draw  us  more  closely  together, 
arid  precipitate  the  result  he  so  dreaded  ? 

One  evening  I  met  Mr.  Holman  at  an  entertain 
ment  given  by  Mrs.  Fairfield,  the  wife  of  a  mem 
ber  of  the  mercantile  house  in  which  he  was  a  clerk. 
It  was  a  large  company,  and  some  of  our  best 
people,  as  they  are  called,  were  there.  As  usual, 
greatly  to  the  annoyance  of  my  father,  who  was 
present,  Edgar  soon  found  his  way  to  my  side; 
and  when  the  dancing  commenced,  we  took  the 
floor  as  partners.  Two  or  three  times,  as  we 
stood  in  the  pauses  of  the  dance,  I  met  my  father's 
eyes  bent  almost  sternly  upon  me.  At  the  close 
of  the  set,  my  partner  led  me  to  a  sofa,  and  stood 
before  me,  talking,  when  my  father  came  up  with 
a  gentleman,  and  presented  him  to  me  as  a  Mr 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  133 

Congreve.  Edgar  retired  to  another  part  of  the 
room.  t 

11  May  I  claim  jour  hand  for  the  next  cotil 
lion  ?  "  asked  the  gentleman,  bowing  very  low, 
and  with  what  struck  me  as  an  excess  of  for 
mality. 

•  I  could  not  say  that  I  was  already  engaged, 
and  even  if  I  had  been,  to  Edgar,  I  would  not 
have  ventured  to  decline,  under  the  circumstances. 
Until  the  next  set  took  the  floor,  Mr.  Congreve 
held  me  in  conversation,  and  I  had  a  good  oppor 
tunity  to  observe  him.  I  was  nineteen  ;  be  past 
thirty.  So  much  for  the  difference  in  our  ages. 
I  did  not  like  his  face.  It  was  strongly  marked, 
and  gave  evidence  of  mental  vigor,  but  not  of 
refinement  or  taste.  His  nose  was  large  and 
slightly  aquiline ;  his  eyes  prominent ;  his  lips 
full ;  his  complexion  dark.  He  was  rather  above 
than  below  the  middle  stature. 

I  saw  many  curious  eyes  upon  us  as  we  stood 
up  and  took  a  position  on  the  floor ;  and  from 
the  expression  in  some  of  these  eyes,  I  understood 
that  my  partner  was  a  man  of  mark  for  some 
thing  distinguishing.  Large  wealth,  I  afterwards 
learned  this  to  be.  He  made  quite  an  elegant 
appearance,  as  he  threaded  the  mazy  figures,  and 
1  might  have  been  proud  of  my  partner  if  his 
company  had  not,  at  the  time,  been  almost  an 
intrusion. 


134  OUR  NEIGHBORS  IN 

"You  dance  charmingly,"  he  said,  as  the  music 
ceased,  and  we  passed  to  the  side  of  the  room  ; 
"  and  before  somebody  else  snatches  you  away 
from  me,  I  must  secure  your  hand  for  another 
set." 

I  could  do  no  less  than  consent.  My  father  now 
joined  us,  and  looked  happy  as  Mr.  Congreve 
complimented  me.  I  danced  with  him  again  ; 
and  then  he  drew  me  away  from  the  parlors  to 
the  conservatory,  which  had  been  lighted  up  for 
the  occasion,  and  held  me  there,  in  conversation 
about  rare  plants,  with  which  he  seemed  familiar, 
for  nearly  an  hour.  Three  or  four  times  Edgar 
passed  near  us;  and  I  saw,  by  the  expression 
of  his  face,  that  he  was  annoyed,  and,  perhaps, 
a  little  disturbed  in  mind.  I  tried  to  throw  him 
assuring  glances. 

"I  must  follow  up  this  acquaintance,"  said 
Mr.  Congreve,  speaking  both  to  me  and  to  my 
father,  as  we  stood  together  in  the  thinning  par 
lors,  at  a  late  hour. 

My  father  bowed;  but  I  made  no  response. 
The  intimation  was  far  from  being  agreeable.  As 
we  rode  home,  my  father  spoke  warmly  of  Mr. 
Congreve.  He  was  a  man  of  wealth  and  high 
position,  he  said,  who  had  come  to  our  city  from 
the  South  a  year  before,  to  connect  himself  with 
some  enterprises  of  an  extensive  character.  I 
listened,  but  did  not  answer.  His  wealth  and 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  135 

position,  however  attractive  to  my  father,  had  no 
charms  for  me.  As  a  man,  he  had  not  impressed 
me  favorably. 

Indisposition  had  prevented  Aunt  Mary  from 
attending  this  party  of  the  season ;  a  circumstance 
that  we  both  regretted.  I  went  to  her  room,  on 
my  return  home,  and  found  her  awake.  She  had 
many  questions  to  ask,  as  to  who  were  there,  and 
how  I  had  enjoyed  the  evening.  I  mentioned 
my  introduction  to  Mr.  Congreve,  and  his  mo 
nopoly  of  my  company.  She  did  not  seem  alto 
gether  pleased. 

"  Who  is  he,  aunt  ?  Tell  me  ! "  I  spoke  with 
some  earnestness. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  know  much  about  him," 
she  replied.  "  He  has  not  resided  here  for  a  very 
long  time." 

"  Father  says  he  is  very  rich." 

"  Money  isn't  everything."  Aunt  Mary  said 
this  partly  to  herself. 

*'  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  "  I  wanted  to 
get  her  impression  of  the  man. 

"  He  has  not  been  a  favorite  of  mine,"  was  her 
reserved  answer. 

"  He  is  going  to  call  here,"  said  I. 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  Aunt  Mary  spoke 
with  sudden  interest. 

"  He  said  that  he  meant  to  follow  up  the  acquaint 
ance.  I  suppose  that  means  what  I  intimate." 


136  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IX 

"Perhaps  it  does."  A  faint  sigh  closed  the 
remark. 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  said  I. 

Aunt  Mary  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"  And  I  don't  wish  him  to  come  here,"  I 
added. 

"  It  may  only  have  been  a  compliment,"  said 
Aunt  Mary.  "  Men  of  his  stamp  are  often  profuse 
in  words." 

"  He  has  plenty  of  them.  I  wished  him  dumb 
more  than  a  dozen  times  to-night.  He  really 
persecuted  me  with  his  compliments  and  atten 
tions." 

"  Don't  think  any  more  about  them,  dear." 
Aunt  Mary  looked  a  little  worried,  I  thought. 

"  You  don't  like  him  ?  "  said  I,  determined  to  get 
her  impression  of  Mr.  Congreve. 

"  Not  much,"  she  replied.  "  He  isn't  the  kind 
of  man  to  win  my  admiration." 

"  Nor  mine  either,"  I  responded.  "  So,  he 
might  as  well  save  himself  the  trouble  of  follow 
ing  up  the  acquaintance." 

I  kissed  Aunt  Mary,  and  said  good  night.  I 
was  in  too  much  excitement  of  mind  to  sleep  for 
an  hour  or  two  after  retiring.  There  was  trouble 
in  my  way ;  I  saw  that  clearly.  If  Mr.  Congreve 
should  prove  to  be  really  in  earnest  in  his  admi 
ration,  and  attempt  any  advances  beyond  the 
formalities  of  ordinary  acquaintanceship,  I  should 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  137 

have  to  hold  him  off,  at  the  risk  of  offending  my 
father. 

In  the  morning  my  father  asked  me  how  I  had 
enjoyed  the  party,  and  ere  I  could  reply  said, 
smiling, 

"But  I  had  eyes,  and  could  see  for  myself.  She 
was  quite  the  belle."  And  he  looked  across  the 
table  at  Aunt  Mary. 

My  heart  did  not  flutter  nor  my  face  crimson 
at  this  compliment ;  I  felt  too  sober  for  that. 

"  Dissipation  is  not  good  for  you."  My  father 
looked  at  me  more  narrowly.  "  You  danced  too 
often  last  night." 

"  Perhaps  I  did."     I  spoke  listlessly. 

My  father  then  gave  Aunt  Mary  some  account 
of  the  entertainment,  and  of  the  people  who  were 
there.  As  I  expected,  he  said  more  about  Mr. 
Congreve  than  any  one  else,  and  sought  to  make 
a  good  impression  in  regard  to  him.  I  kept  silent, 
and  so  did  Aunt  Mary.  He  was  a  little  annoyed 
at  this,  I  could  see,  but  repressed  his  feelings. 

Almost  to  my  consternation,  Mr.  Congreve  made 
me  a  call  this  very  morning.  I  could  do  no  less 
than  treat  him  courteously ;  but  he  found  me,  at 
home,  something  different,  I  imagine,  from  what 
he  found  me  in  company  on  the  night  before. 

"Are  you  fond  of  music?  "  he  asked,  as  we  sat 
conversing.  My  suggestive  piano  stood  open  in 
the  room. 


138  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

I  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  So  am  I,  passionately,"  he  said.  "  Won't  you 
favor  me  ?  "  and  he  made  a  motion  to  lead  me  to 
the  instrument.  I  arose  and  crossed  to  where  it 
stood,  without  suffering  him  to  touch  my  hand. 

"What  kind  of  music  do  you  like?  "  I  inquired, 
as  I  sat  down,  and  laid  a  book  open  on  the  desk. 

"  Oh,  anything  that  can  be  called  music,"  he 
replied. 

I  tried  him  in  a  piece  designed  to  reach  only  a 
cultivated  ear,  and  understood  from  his  un discri 
minating  praise  that  it  merely  gave  to  his  sense  of 
hearing  a  confusion  of  musical  sounds.  A  march 
reached  him  more  intelligibly,  so  did  an  airy 
waltz.  The  Nocturne  by  Chopin  received  the 
equivocal  praise  contained  in  the  words  "  very 
fine." 

"You  play  charmingly,"  he  said,  as  I  left  the 
piano.  "  Charmingly  !  "  he  added.  "  I  never 
heard  better  playing  in  my  life,  and  I  have  listen 
ed  to  some  admirable  performers,  both  at  home 
and  abroad." 

I  acknowledged  the  compliment  as  gracefully 
as  possible.  He  then  referred  to  some  musical 
entertainments  which  he  had  enjoyed,  a  few 
years  before,  in  London  and  Paris,  and  mention 
ed  certain  celebrities,  in  whom  I  felt  interested. 

My  replies  led  him  on  to  speak  of  other  things 
connected  with  his  tour  in  Europe,  and,  as  he  had 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  139 

been  quite  an  intelligent  observer,  he  soon  had 
my  absorbed  attention.  He  must  be  a  dull  man 
indeed,  who  has  spent  any  time  in  Paris,  London, 
Home,  Florence,  and  Naples,  and  yet  is  not  able 
to  interest  the  thought  of  a  young  and  ardent  girl, 
who  has  dreamed  over  their  fascinations  in  books. 
But  Mr.  Congreve  was  far  from  being  a  dull  man. 
He  was,  on  the  contrary,  intelligent,  appreciative, 
and  a  lover  of  art.  He  had  travelled  with  open 
eyes,  and  brought  home  a  well  stored  memory. 

He  saw  that  I  was  interested  in  his  reminis 
cences  and  descriptions,  and  entertained  me  for  an 
hour  with  pictures  of  Italian  life,  scenery,  and  art. 
When  he  took  his  departure,  my  impression  of  the 
man  was  changed.  I  could  not  but  feel  respect 
for  his  intelligence,  and  a  certain  deference  to 
wards  him  as  one  who  had  seen  the  world  at 
many  points,  and  enjoyed  rare  advantages. 

I  mentioned  the  call  to  my  father,  and  saw  that 
it  gave  him  great  pleasure.  It  would  have  been 
more  in  accordance  with  my  feelings  to  have  said 
nothing  to  him  on  the  subject  ;  but  I  had  my 
reasons  for  alluding  to  the  visit. 

"  He  is  really  an  intelligent  man,"  said  I  to 
Aunt  Mary,  in  speaking  to  her  of  Mr.  Congreve. 
"  He  travelled  in  Europe  with  open  eyes,  and  de 
scribes  what  he  saw  in  a  very  interesting  manner." 

"  He  is  a  man  possessed  of  considerable  infor 
mation,"  replied  my  aunt ;  "  but- " 


140  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

She  paused,  as  if  questioning  with  herself  the 
propriety  of  saying  what  was  in  her  thoughts. 

"But  what,  Aunt  Mary?"  I  said,  seeing  that 
she  hesitated. 

"  Two  things  go  to  make  up  the  character  of  a 
true  man,"  she  remarked. 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  The  head  and  the  heart ;  or  the  intellect  and 
the  moral  qualities." 

"  That  I  understand  clearly." 

"  The  head  is  well  enough  in  the  case  of  Mr. 
Congreve,"  said  Aunt  Mary;  "but  I  am  not  so 
well  satisfied  about  the  heart." 

"I  know  one  thing,"  said  I;  "there  is  about 
him,  for  me,  a  sphere  of  repulsion.  I  felt  all  the 
while  as  if  something  were  pushing  me  away  from 
him.  Was  it  not  singular,  to  say  the  least  of  it?  " 

"  It  is  a  fact  not  lightly  to  be  regarded,"  was 
Aunt  Mary's  reply.  "When  two  persons  meet 
for  the  first  time,  this  feeling  of  repulsion  on  the 
part  of  one  or  the  other  often  occurs,  and  is  not 
without  significance." 

"What  does  it  signify?"  I  saw  that  Aunt 
Mary  was  not  speaking  at  random — indeed,  she 
never  does  that — but  had  a  meaning  that  involved 
something  beyond  what  my  girlish  thoughts  had 
ever  reached. 

"  It  may  signify  perception  of  quality,"  said 
Aunt  Mary. 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  141 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand  you,"  was  my 
reply. 

"  You  can  understand  that  the  mind  has  a 
quality.  That  it  is  good  or  bad — true  or  false?  " 

"  Oh,  yes."     For  that  was  clear  enough. 

"  When  two  persons  meet,  and  the  thought  of 
each  turns  to  the  other,  we  may  say,  without 
figure  of  speech,  that  their  minds  meet."  Aunt 
Mary  spoke  with  deliberation,  so  that  I  might  get 
the  meaning  of  her  words.  "  Can  you  see  that 
this  is  really  so?  " 

"If  the  mind  is  a  substantial  thing,  as  I  have 
often  heard  you  say,  substantial  because  formed 
out  of  spiritual  substance,  as  the  body  is  formed 
oat  of  material  substance,  then,  in  the  presence 
which  thought  gives,  there  must  be  an  actual 
meeting  of  two  minds,"  I  said  in  reply. 

"  I  see  that  you  comprehend  me."  Aunt  Mary 
spoke  with  satisfaction  in  her  tones,  and  then 
added:  "In  this  meeting,  is  it  not  fair  to  con 
clude,  that  if  the  quality  of  one  mind  be  good, 
and  that  of  the  other  evil,  the  quality  will  be  per 
ceived,  and  a  sense  of  repulsion  be  inevitable,  in 
one  case  or  the  other.  Can  it  be  otherwise  ?  " 

I  caught  at  the  suggestion  eagerly.  It  was 
novel  to  my  mind,  but  self-evidently  true. 

"  Does  the  repulsion  of  which  you  speak,"  I 
asked,  "  always  indicate  evil  quality  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  she  replied,  "  that  would  be  assuming 


142  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

too  much.  In  nature,  electrical  attractions  and 
repulsions  do  not  indicate  evil  quality,  but  oppo 
site  conditions.  So  it  may  be  as  to  minds." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  the  inference  follows  that  an 
instinctive  dislike,  or  repulsion,  felt  towards  any 
one  at  first,  may  be  taken  as  a  warning  that  some 
condition  or  quality  exists  that  would  for  ever 
prevent  an  intimate  arid  harmonious  association  ; 
and  that  any  attempt  to  act  in  the  face  of  this 
warning  is  a  blind  folly,  opening  the  way  to 
misery." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  you  state  the  case  too 
strongly,"  remarked  Aunt  Mary,  thoughtfully ; 
"in  my  view  it  is  safer  to  obey  these  suggestive 
instincts  than  to  disregard  them." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  aunt,"  said  I,  "  for  the  light 
you  have  thrown  into  my  mind.  I  just  wanted 
these  few  rays  to  guide  me  in  the  right  path." 

Aunt  Mary  looked  at  me  curiously.  But  I  did 
not  take  her  yet  into  my  confidence. 


THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  143 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

DID  not  feel  at  ease  in  my  mind 
touching  Mr.  Congreve.  If  my 
heart  had  not  already  become  in 
terested,  and  in  a  direction  dis 
pleasing  to  my  father,  his  atten 
tions  at  the  party,  and  call  upon  me  at 
so  early  a  period  afterwards,  would  only 
have  stirred  a  little  maiden  vanity.  Now, 
the  fear  lest  he  might  be  in  earnest 
troubled  me. 
I  was  not  long  in  doubt.  He  called  again  in  a 
day  or  two,  and,  at  this  second  visit,  asked  me  to 
ride  out  with  him  on  the  next  afternoon.  I  tried 
to  excuse  myself;  but  in  a  playful  manner,  that 
only  concealed  an  earnest  purpose,  he  pressed  me 
to  give  consent. 

"  If  my  father  does  not  object,"  I  said,  at  last. 
Now,  I  would  rather  have  said  anything  else ; 
but  in  my  perplexity,  this  came  forth  unwillingly. 
"  I  will  answer-  for  your  father,"  replied  iny 
visitor  in  a  confident  way  that  amazed  me. 


144  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

"  Mr.  Congreve  has  asked  me  to  ride  out  with 
him,"  said  I  to  my  father,  on  meeting  him. 

"  Has  he?  "     I  saw  his  face  brighten. 

"  Yes,  on  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  You  accepted  the  attention,  of  course  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"What!"  His  surprise  and  disappointment 
were  too  apparent. 

"  Without  your  approval,  sir,  I  would  not  think 
it  right  to  accept  such  an  invitation." 

"  Did  you  say  so  to  Mr.  Congreve  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  said,  if  you  did  not  object." 

"  Oh  !  "  His  face  brightened  again.  "  I 
thought  you  could  hardly  have  been  so  rude  as 
to  decline  such  a  flattering  attention  from  a  man 
like  Mr.  Congreve." 

I  turned  away  to  hide  my  crimsoning  face. 
"  A  man  like  Mr.  Congreve !  "  I  shut  my  teeth 
as  I  repeated  the  words  in  suppressed  indignation. 

The  repulsion  about  which  I  had  spoken  to 
Aunt  Mary  was  felt  as  strongly  as  ever  at  t:ns 
second  visit  from  Mr.  Congreve;  and  the  thougut 
of  sitting  alone  with  him  in  a  carriage  for  two 
or  three  hours  was  exceedingly  unpleasant.  1 
had,  in  addition,  a  secret  fear  lest  we  should  be 
seen  riding  out  together  by  Mr.  Holman  ;  and 
that  he  would  take  more  for  granted  than  truth 
could  warrant. 

When  Mr.  Congreve  called  with  his  handsome 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  145 

carriage  and  splendid  pair  of  horses,  I  was  ready 
to  accompany  him.  The  drive  was  amid  some 
of  the  finest  scenery  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
my  companion  interested  me  in  local  traditions 
connected  with  pioneer  settlers ;  in  showing  fine 
points  in  the  landscape ;  in  comparing  our  scenery 
with  that  of  countries  which  he  had  visited ;  and 
in  other  ways,  varied  by  the  suggestions  of  our 
ride.  It  was  near  the  hour  of  sunset  when  we 
drove  down  towards  the  city,  which  lay  stretching 
along  and  back  from  the  broad  river  that  swept 
by  in  a  never-ceasing  current. 

"You  have  heard  of  Italian  skies?  "  said  Mr. 
Congreve,  as  he  drew  upon  the  reins  until  the 
horses  stood  still  at  a  turn  in  the  road,  from  which 
the  whole  western  horizon  was  visible.  At  the 
zenith,  the  sky  was  of  a  deep  blue,  with  here  and 
there  a  gauzy  scarf  of  white  vapor  lying  motion 
less  against  the  pure  azure.  As  the  eye  descended 
westward,  the  number  of  these  white,  fleecy 
masses  increased,  and  between  them  you  saw  the 
sky  taking  on  a  pale,  transparent  green.  Lower 
down,  cloud  and  sky  were  purpling  in  warmer 
rays.  Then  came  a  mountain  range  of  white 
clouds,  with  dusky  gorge  and  dim  valley  reced 
ing  far  into  its  bosom,  and  every  snowy  peak 
crowned  with  a  diadem  of  golden  rays.  Below 
this,  was  a  lake  of  soft  azure  and  green,  its  surface 
as  smooth  as  glass,  and  below  this,  a  molten  sea  of 
7 


146  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

fiery  sunbeams,  yellow  and  red  and  purple,  that 
gleamed  like  molten  gems  and  gold.  The  scene 
was  one  of  gorgeous  beauty.  A  sunset  to  be  re 
membered. 

"  You  have  heard  of  Italian  skies  ?  "  repeated 
Mr.  Congreve,  after  I  had  looked  for  some  time  in 
silence  upon  the  entrancing  scene. 

"They  cannot  be  more  beautiful  than  that," 
said  I,  lifting  my  finger  towards  the  west. 

"Italy  never  saw  anything  more  glorious,"  he 
replied.  And  then  he  described  for  me,  as  we  sat 
there,  with  our  eyes  upon  the  changing  scene,  and 
the  horses  at  rest,  a  sunset  witnessed  among  the 
Apennines. 

"More  beautiful  than  this"  said  I,  when  he 
ceased  speaking,  "  because  the  mind  gives  it  a 
charm  not  drawn  from  nature — the  charm  of  asso 
ciation.  A  sunset  viewed  from  an  Ohio  bluff,  and 
one  from  a  peak  amid  the  Apennines,  must  affect 
the  soul  differently." 

We  discussed  this  point  as  we  rode  homewards, 
he,  by  a  slightly  urged  difference  of  opinion, 
spurring  my  mind  into  excitement.  I  had  grown 
animated,  and  was  combating  some  playful  re 
mark  he  had  made,  when — we  had  entered  the 
city,  and  were  driving  down  one  of  the  principal 
streets — my  eyes  encountered  the  face  of  Mr. 
Holman,  and  I  became  silent.  I  knew  that  upon 
my  face  was  a  glow  of  pleasant  feeling.  What 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  147 

would  be  the  effect  on  his  mind  ?  That  was  the 
instant  question  in  my  thoughts.  Mr.  Congreve 
had  almost  monopolized  me  on  the  night  of  the 
party,  since  which  Edgar  and  I  had  not  met ;  and 
now,  I  was  riding  with  Mr.  Congreve,  and  in  ani 
mated  conversation  with  him. 

For  the  rest  of  the  drive  home  I  was  silent.  My 
companion  could  not,  of  course,  help  noticing  the 
change.  The  reason  was  hardly  suspected.  He 
tried  to  interest  me  by  a  change  of  subject,  but 
failed  altogether. 

My  father  was  standing  at  the  garden  gate  as 
we  drove  up. 

"  I  have  returned  her  safely,  Doctor,"  said  Mr. 
Congreve,  as  he  sprang  from  his  seat  and  assisted 
me  to  alight. 

"  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  the  ride,"  remarked 
my  father. 

"  I  can  speak  for  myself — how  is  it  with  you, 
Miss  Edith  ?  "  And  Mr.  Congreve  looked  with  a 
smiling  face  into  mine. 

"I  was  much  gratified."  What  less  could  I 
have  said  ?  Then,  bowing,  I  ran  along  the  walk, 
and  disappeared  in  the  house.  Full  ten  minutes 
must  have  elapsed  before  I  heard  the  carriage 
drive  away.  Why  had  Mr.  Congreve  lingered  so 
long  in  conversation  with  my  father?  The 
fact  disturbed  me.  I  did  not  imagine  foi  a 
moment  that  he  had,  on  so  brief  an  acquaint- 


148  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

ance,  made  any  serious  advances.  But  I  was 
mistaken. 

At  tea-time  my  father  was  in  unusually  good 
spirits.  He  asked  me  many  questions  about  our 
ride,  and  tried  to  draw  me  on  to  speak  of  it ;  but 
I  was  sober  and  had  little  to  say. 

"  I  have  a  compliment  for  you,"  said  my  father, 
as  he  sat  with  his  pleased  eyes  on  my  face. 

"  Who  from  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  From  Mr.  Congreve." 

My  father  looked  at  me  narrowly.  I  showed 
no  signs  of  pleasure. 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  what  he  said  ?  "  My 
father's  voice  was  a  little  shaded.  He  was  disap 
pointed  at  my  apparent  indifference. 

"Not  particularly,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  you  shan't  know  it !  "     He  was  piqued. 

"So  much  saved  to  my  vanity,"  said  I,  coldly. 

"She's  dying  to  hear,  of  course,"  remarked 
Aunt  Mary,  who  put  in  this  mollifying  sentence. 
She  saw  that  my  father  was  annoyed. 

"  Don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  I  said,  quickly. 
"  Mr.  Congreve's  opinion  is  of  no  consequence  to 
me.  I  don't  like  him  !  " 

My  father's  brows  closed  suddenly,  and  he 
showed  unmistakable  signs  of  discomfiture. 

"  He's  rich,  polished,  and   intelligent ;  no  one 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  140 

can  gainsay  that ;"  I  thought  it  well  to  speak  out 
then  and  there  ;  "  but  he  is  not  a  man  after  my 
fancy,  and  it  is  the  last  time,  I  trust,  he  will  ever 
ask  me  to  ride  with  him." 

I  hardly  know  what  possessed  me  to  speak  so 
boldly  ;  a  consciousness  of  being  in  imminent  dan 
ger,  perhaps. 

"  A  girl's  fancies  are  the  embodiment  of  all  wise 
appreciation  of  character,  of  course  !  "  My  father 
spoke  with  a  curl  of  his  expressive  lip. 

"Say  a  woman's  perception,  father,"  I  replied, 
calmly,  "and  you  may  be  near  the  truth."  I  let 
my  voice  dwell  upon  the  word  woman,  and  looked 
at  him  with  a  meaning  expression  on  my  face.  I 
wished  him  to  remember  a  previous'  conversation 
which  he  had  forced  upon  rne. 

He  was  about  to  answer,  and  with  some  vehe 
mence,  I  inferred  from  the  sudden  play  of  his  fea 
tures;  but  he  checked  himself,  became  silent,  and 
did  not  speak  again  during  the  meal.  He  had 
remembered  that  conversation. 


150  OTJK  NEIGHBOES   IN 


CHAPTER    XY. 

afternoon,  very  soon  after  that 
drive  with  Mr.  Congreve,  as  I 
was  on  my  way  home  from  a 
visit  to  a  friend,  I  met  Edgar 
Holman.  It  was  the  first  time 
I  had  been  face  to  face  with  him 
since  the  night  of  the  party  at  Mrs.  Fair- 
field's.  His  countenance  did  not  light 
up  with  the  usual  glow  of  pleasure  that 
I  had  heretofore  observed  in  it;  and 
he  seemed  a  little  shy  and  embarrassed.  Taking 
the  reason  for  granted,  I  laid  my  hand  in  his,  and 
let  my  eyes  rest  steadily  in  his  eyes.  He  read 
their  language,  and  was  satisfied. 

We  stood  and  talked  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
parted ;  not  from  any  sense  of  repulsion,  such  as 
I  experienced  when  in  company  with  Mr.  Con 
greve.  On  the  contrary,  the  sphere  of  attraction 
was  as  strong  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Holman  as  the 
sphere  of  repulsion  was  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Con- 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE,  151 

greve.  I  had  gone  a  short  distance,  after  parting 
with  Edgar,  when  I  heard  his  quick  steps  behind 
me.  Returning  to  mj  side,  he  said,  with  a  little 
tremor  in  his  voice, 

"  Are  you  in  a  hurry  to  get  home,  Miss  Edith  ?  " 

I  replied  in  the  negative. 

"  Because,  if  you  are  not,  I  thought  I  would 
propose  a  short  walk." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  agreeable  at  the 
time.  So  we  turned  from  the  main  street,  down 
to  a  retired  part  of  the  city,  where  the  dwellings 
stood  far  apart,  and  rows  of  well  grown  trees 
threw  a  shade  on  the  sidewalks.  Yery  little  was 
said  by  either  until  we  were  quite  beyond  the 
reach  of  common  observation ;  in  fact,  almost 
away  from  the  settled  portions  of  the  town.  Then 
taking  my  hand,  in  an  impulsive  way,  after  a 
silence  of  some  minutes,  Mr.  Hoi  man  said,  hur 
riedly, 

"  Pardon  me,  if  I  am  going  too  far ;  but  I  feel 
that  I  must  speak  now." 

He  stopped,  while  I  was  holding  my  breath  for 
other  words. 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?  "  he  asked.  I  did  not  with 
draw  the  hand  he  had  taken ;  but  accorded  that 
much  of  assent. 

"You  are  not  offended  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  The  words  leaped  impulsively  to 
expression. 


152  OUR  NEIGHBORS    IN 

V  -• 

Still,  he  was  not  satisfied.  He  wanted  some 
thing  more  assuring. 

"You  are  very  dear  to  me,  Edith!"  With 
what  a  delicious  thrill  did  the  sentence  go  through 
my  heart !  And  yet,  my  hand  lay  in  his — pas 
sively  ?  I  cannot  say  yea  to  that. 

"My  father's  approval  will  never,  I  fear,  be 
obtained,"  said  I,  as  soon  as  I  could  trust  myself 
to  speak. 

"  And  if  he  says  nay,  what  then  ?  "  He  looked 
into  my  face  with  tender  earnestness. 

"  We  must  wait  patiently  and  hopefully  for  a 
time." 

"  And  lovingly,  Edith,"  he  added.  Then,  after 
a  little  while,  he  said,  "  I  would  not  have  spoken 
with  such  unseemly  haste,  if  I  had  not  been  in 
fear  of  losing  what  to  me  is  so  precious.  Nor 
would  I  have  taken  an  opportunity  like  this,  if 
your  father  had  not  deprived  me,  by  his  repulsive 
conduct,  of  one  that  would  have  seemed  more 
honorable.  Against  anything  clandestine,  my  feel 
ings  revolt ;  and  I  am  hurt  at  the  necessity  which 
compels  me  to  take  an  apparently  unfair  advantage 
of  your  father.  If  you  do  not  object,  I  will,  in 
the  face  of  all  unpleasant  consequences,  call  upon 
him,  and  claim  your  hand." 

I  did  not  know  what  answer  I  should  make  to 
this. 

"Time  will  be  our  instructors,"  said  I,  after 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  153 

pondering  the  matter.  ;'For  the  present  it  were 
better,  I  think,  to  keep  this  secret  locked  within 
our  own  hearts." 

"If  you  think  best,  I  have  not  a  word  to  say," 
he  replied. 

We  had  turned,  and  were  now  walking  home 
wards.  I  wanted  to  speak  of  Mr.  Congreve.  I 
knew  that  he  had  seen  us  riding  out  together,  and 
I  wished  him  to  understand  that  the  man  was 
wholly  repulsive.  Yet  a  feeling  of  maiden  deli 
cacy  kept  me  from  uttering  his  name.  While  the 
thought  of  him  was  yet  in  my  mind,  I  heard  the 
sound  of  wheels  in  advance,  and  lifting  my  eyes, 
I  saw  him  driving  towards  us  in  his  elegant  car 
riage.  As  he  ^approached,  I  raised  my  hand,  and 
drew  it  within  the  arm  of  my  companion,  thus 
acknowledging  the  existence  of  something  more 
than  acquaintanceship.  I  saw  a  disturbed  look 
on  his  face,  as  he  bowed  low,  in  passing. 

I  could  have  done  nothing  more  assuring  to 
Edgar.  The  plainest  spoken  words  would  not 
have  conveyed  so  clearly  my  rejection  of  Mr. 
Congreve,  and  acceptance  of  him. 

We  parted  while   yet  at   some  distance  from  * 
home,  and  without  encountering  my  father,  who, 
as  a  physician  of  good  practice,  was  moving  about 
in  all  directions.     1  had  been  in  dread  of  meeting 
him  nearly  all  the  time. 

For  a  iittle  season,  I   was  happy  beyond  the 

7* 


154  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

reach  of  outward  things.  Edgar  and  I  were  born 
for  each  other.  I  felt  as  much  assured  of  this 
as  of  my  existence.  From  the  first,  even  as 
strangers,  we  drew  mutually  together;  and  at 
each  meeting,  the  attraction  had  grown  stronger. 
And  now,  pledges  were  exchanged.  The  brief 
season  of  doubt  was  over ;  and  the  assurance  of 
oral  language  confirmed  the  significance  of  look, 
tone,  and  expression. 

Many  circumstances  conspired  to  prevent  our 
meeting  again  for  nearly  two  weeks.  Two  or 
three  times  during  this  period  Mr.  ^  Congreve 
called  to  see  me,  and  twice  invited  me  to  ride  out 
with  him.  A  fortunate  headache  gave  me  a  good 
excuse  for  declining  on  both  occasions.  I  treated 
him  with  as  much  coldness  as  I  dared  to  assume 
towards  a  visitor ;  but  he  was  not,  as  far  as  I  could 
see,  in  the  least  repelled  thereby. 

My  next  meeting  with  Mr.  Holman  was  in  a 
company  at  the  house  of  a  friend.  Mr.  Congreve 
was  present;  so  were  my  father  and  Aunt  Mary. 
The  rooms  were  well  filled,  which  gave  Edgar 
and  me  an  opportunity  to  speak  familiarly  to 
one  another  without  attracting  observation.  He 
came  in  a  little  later  than  I  did,  but  sought 
me  out  immediately.  Mr.  Congreve  arrived  soon 
after. 

"Kemember,"  said  Edgar,  as  he  noticed  Mr. 
Congreve  crossing  the  room  towards  us  "  that, 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  155 

when  the  dancing  begins,  you  are  engaged  to  me 
for  the  first  set." 

"  And  for  the  second  and  third,  also,  if  you 
will,"  was  my  answer. 

Mr.  Congreve  bowed  with  impressive  formality 
as  he  came  up,  and  I  returned  his  greeting  in  a 
friendly  way.  He  did  not  notice  Edgar  in  even 
a  cold  nod,  but  began  talking  with  me  as  freely  as 
if  we  two  were  alone,  referring  to  his  disappoint 
ment  in  not  having  had  the  pleasure  of  my  com 
pany  in  a  drive  two  or  three  days  before. 

"  You  would  have  seen,"  he  said,  "  a  sunset  of 
even  more  gorgeous  beauty  than  the  one  we  both 
enjoyed  so  much  two  or  three  weeks  ago.  It  far 
outnvalled  anything  that  I  witnessed  in  the  land 
so  famed  for  its  glorious  skies." 

I  did  not  express  regret  at  having  missed  the 
splendid  sight,  but  merely  referred  to  the  beauti 
ful  sky  we  had  gazed  upon  as  one  long  to  be  re 
membered. 

"  The  point  from  which  we  saw  it  gave  the 
scene  a  grander  beauty,"  replied  Mr.  Congreve. 
'  Nothing  intruded  to  cut  the  horizon,  and  dimi 
nish  the  impression  of  vastness.  I  must  take  you 
there  again,  when  the  atmosphere  is  favorable." 

But  I  guarded  my  reply  so  as  not  to  express 
any  desire  to  accept  his  proffered  courtesy.  Gra 
dually,  and  I  thought  from  design,  Mr.  Congreve's 
person  became  intruded  between  me  and  Edgar 


156  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

Holman,  so  that  the  latter  was  forced  to  recede 
to  a  greater  distance.  My  father  coming  up, 
completely  separated  us.  I  felt  provoked  at  what 
seemed  contemptuous  treatment  of  Edgar  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Congreve ;  and  resented  it  with  some 
coldness  of  manner. 

Music  was  now  introduced,  preparatory  to 
dancing.  Mr.  Congreve  immediately  claimed  my 
hand  for  the  first  set. 

I  thanked  him,  but  answered  that  I  was  already 
engaged ;  and  Edgar,  coming  forward  at  the  mo 
ment,  said — 

"  I  believe  you  are  to  be  my  partner." 

I  arose  and  accepted  his  offered  arm.  Mr.  Con 
greve  looked  disappointed,  and  my  father  frowned. 
But  I  was  too  happy  to  be  at  my  lover's  side  to 
care  very  greatly  for  the  disappointment  or  dis 
pleasure  of  any  one. 

"  For  the  next  set  also,  remember,"  said  Edgnr, 
as  he  conducted  me  to  a  seat  after  the  dancing  was 
over.  Mr.  Congreve  came  to  my  side  again,  and 
Edgar  moved  away. 

"  Our  young  friend  was  too  quick  for  me,"  re 
marked  the  former,  in  a  pleasant,  nonchalant  way. 
"  But  I  will  steal  a  march  on  every  one  else. 
Your  hand  is  free  for  the  next  set  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  smiling,  so  that  I  might  not 
seem  as  cold  as  I  felt. 

"  I'm  disappointed."     And  tone  and  look  were 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE).  157 

in  confirmation  of  his  words.     "  I  claim  you,  then, 
for  the  next." 

I  had  said  to  Edgar  that  I  would  dance  with 
him  in  the  second  and  third  sets  as  well  as  in  the 
first ;  but  a  moment  of  hurried  thought  made  me 
conclude,  on  my  father's  account,  to  accept  Mr. 
Congreve  for  the  third  set.  I  could  explain  to 
Edgar  when  we  danced  together  for  the  second 
time.  So  I  replied : 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  dance  with  you  then,  Mr 
Congreve." 

He  looked  more  pleased  than  was  agreeable  to 
me.  I  was  not  vain  enough  to  be  flattered 
by  the  impression  it  was  clear  I  had  made  upon 
him. 

I  informed  Edgar,  in  a  few  words,  while  we 
danced  for  the  second  time,  that  I  had  promised 
to  accept  Mr.  Congreve  as  a  partner.  I  saw  a 
slight  change  on  his  countenance  ;  but  I  said  that 
it  was  on  my  father's  account,  and  that  a  certain 
measure  of  prudence  must  be  exercised.  He  as 
sented,  but  not  cheerfully. 

"  After  the  third  set  I  will  dance  no  more  this 
evening,"  said  I. 

And  I  did  not  go  on  the  floor  again,  though  so 
licited  by  Mr.  Congreve  and  others.  Edgar  made 
his  way  to  where  I  sat,  but  the  rich  Mr.  Congreve 
did  not  hide  his  contempt  for  the  poor  merchant's 
clerk,  whose  unobtrusive,  gentlemanly  reserve  of 


158  OUR    NEIGHBORS   IN 

manner   gave  the  other  an  opportunity  to  push 
him  aside  and  monopolize  my  company. 

Many  times  during  that  evening,  in  looking 
towards  Aunt  Mary,  I  saw  her  eyes  upon  me,  and 
noted  something  unusual  in  their  expression.  I 
also  noticed  that  my  father  observed  me  closely, 
and  with  much  of  doubt  and  question  in  his 
manner. 

My  secret  was  already  burdening  me  heavily. 
It  was  against  my  nature  to  act  in  a  hidden  or 
clandestine  way,  and  I  resolved  to  take  Aunt  Mary 
into  my  confidence,  and  get  her  clear  head  arid 
more  solid  judgment  to  act  with  and  for  me.  So 
on  returning  home  I  went  to  her  room  instead  of 
to  my  own,  and  there  told  her  everything.  She 
sat  a  long  time  after  I  had  ceased  speaking,  before 
she  replied.  Her  first  words  were : 

"  I'm  afraid,  dear,  there  is  trouble  before  you." 

"  I  have  not  questioned  that  from  the  begin 
ning,"  I  answered.  "But  do  we  not  always  find 
less  trouble  in  doing  right  than  in  doing  wrong?  " 

"  Without  doubt,"  she  replied. 

"  Mr.  Congreve  is  pressing  his  attentions  on  me, 
with,  evidently,  the  full  approval  of  my  father 
He  is  wealthy;  a  man  of  good  social  standing; 
some  culture;  and  more  than  ordinary  intelli 
gence.  But  he  is  so  repulsive  to  me  that  his 
presence  always  produces  a  sense  of  stricture  here," 
and  I  laid  my  hand  against  my  bosom.  "The 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  159 

very  thought  of  becoming  his  wife  produces  a 
feeling  like  suffocation.  I  could  hate  much  easier 
than  I  could  love  him !  Would  it  be  right  for 
me,  then,  under  any  pressure  of  circumstances,  to 
marry  him  ?  " 

Aunt  Mary  said  "No,"  in  a  clear,  steady  voice. 
"  On  the  other  hand,"  I  continued,  "  from  the 
moment  I  saw  Mr.  Holman,  I  felt  a  motion  in  my 
heart  away  down  below  the  region  of  any  prior 
consciousness.  I  was  drawn  towards  him  with  an 
unaccountable  attraction,  which  I  could  no  more 
resist  than  a  leaf  can  resist  the  pressure  of  a 
steadily  moving  current.  I  did  not,  with  an 
eager,  girlish  caprice,  yield  to  this  impression; 
and  I  would  not,  perhaps,  even  now  have  been 
aware  of  its  true  power  if  my  father  had  not  at 
tempted  to  make  me  act  in  opposition.  That 
proved  it  to  be  no  evanescent  influence.  The 
effort  on  his  part  to  push  us  asunder  only  caused 
the  invisible  bond  by  which  we  had  become  united 
to  draw  heavily  upon  both  of  our  hearts,  and  make 
us  deeply  conscious  of  its  existence  as  a  real  thing. 
When,  therefore,  under  the  fear  of  losing  me,  Ed 
gar  was  impelled  to  speak  of  'what  he  felt,  was  I 
wrong  in  responding  according  to  the  truth  ?  " 

To  this  Aunt  Mary  did  not  reply.      I  waited 
for  some  time,  and  then  said: 

"  Should  a  woman  marry  where  she  does  not 
love?" 


160  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

Her  "  No  "  was  unhesitating  and  emphatic. 

"  That  settles  the  question  in  regard  to  Mr. 
Congreve,  should  he  really  show  himself  to  be  in 
earnest,"  said  I. 

"  His  wealth  and  position  should  not  come  into 
the  estimate?  " 

u  No,  no.  It  is  the  man  as  to  character,  quality, 
and  disposition.  As  to  fitness  and  congeniality. 
These  alone  are  to  be  considered,  my  child." 
Aunt  Mary  spoke  with  a  sudden  earnestness. 
"No  mere  social  condition  can  give  happiness  in 
marriage.  Love,  in  the  humblest  position,  is 
blessed;  but  the  highest,  without  love,  is  a  weari 
ness  and  pain." 

"  I  love  Edgar  Holman  with  all  my  heart," 
said  I,  laying  my  face  down  upon  Aunt  Mary's 
bosom. 

"  It  may  be  so,  my  child."  Her  hand  passed 
caressingly  over  my  brow  and  temples.  "  But 
these  sudden  impressions  are  not  always  perma 
nent.  There  may  be  something  in  this  of  mere 
impulse.  It  may  not  be  grounded  in  any  soul- 
perception." 

"  It  is,  dear  aunt,  it  is  !  "  I  answered  with  ardor = 
"  You  know  that  I  was  never  what  is  called  a  sus 
ceptible  girl.  That  I  was  not  fond  of  young  gen 
tlemen's  society.  That  beaux  were  always  more 
disagreeable  than  pleasant.  But  from  the  instant 
my  eyes  looked  into  Edgar's  face  my  heart  moved 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  101 

towards  him.  1  cannot  help  myself  if  I  would. 
There  is  an  impulse  pushing  me  onwards,  that  it 
would  be  vain  to  resist.  Yes.  Aunt  Mary,  I  love 
Edgar  Holman,  and  for  good  or  evil,  my  destiny 
is  bound  up  with  his.  And  now,  what  is  the  best 
thing  to  do  ?  " 

Aunt  Mary  was  silent  again. 

"  Ought  I,  as  things  are,  to  encourage  the  atten 
tions  of  Mr.  Congreve  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  my  aunt. 

"  Will  it  not  be  best  for  my  father  to  know  ex 
actly  how  it  stands  with  Edgar  and  me?  " 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  Who  shall  inform  him  ?  "  I  asked. 

Aunt  Mary  reflected  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
said: 

"  It  will  place  Edgar  in  a  better  position  if  a 
communication  of  the  fact  first  come  from  him. 
The  matter  has  gone  too  far  already,  as  concealed 
from  your  father,  and  the  longer  it  goes  the 
stronger  will  be  his  ground  of  objection." 

I  was  fully  in  agreement  with  this,  and  with  so 
much  settled  as  to  the  future,  left  Aunt  Mary  and 
went  to  my  own  room. 


162  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

the  next  day  I  sent  a  note  to 
Edgar,  asking  him  to  meet  me, 
at  a  certain  hour,  in  the  retired 
part  of  the  town  that  was  dear 
to  me  in  memory  for  the  happi 
ness  I  had  there  experienced.  I  related 
to  him,  when  we  met,  a  part  of  my  con 
versation  with  A  ant  Mary,  and  men 
tioned  the  advice  she  had  given.  He 
was  ready  to  act  upon  it,  and  did  so 
within  twenty-four  hours.  I  was  not  altogether 
unprepared  for  the  result.  My  father  insulted  him 
in  the  grossest  manner,  and  forbade  any  attempt 
to  see  me ;  utterly  rejecting  his  suit  at  the  same 
time,  and  telling  him  that  it  was  hopeless.  This 
he  communicated  to  me  by  letter,  closing  with  the 
sentence : 

"  And  what  now,  dear  Edith?  " 
I  answered,  telling  him  that  I  would  be  true  to 
him  till  death,  and  counselling  patience  and  hope. 
Two  or  three  days  passed  without  my  father 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  163 

approaching  me  on  the  subject,  but  I  could  see 
that  his  mind  was  strongly  exercised. 

I  was  coming  down  stairs,  late  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  third  day  since  the  rejection  of  Edgar's 
suit,  dressed  to  go  out.  It  was  to  keep  an  ap 
pointment  with  my  lover.  I  had  seen  him  on  the 
day  before,  and  we  were  to  meet  again  according 
to  agreement.  It  was  full  two  hours  before  my 
father's  usual  return  home.  His  office  hours  were 
from  three  to  four  o'clock ;  after  that  he  was  fre 
quently  away  among  his  patients  until  nearly 
seven.  To  nry  surprise,  the  front  door  opened 
and  he  came  in,  in  something  of  a  hurried  man 
ner.  Seeing  me  dressed  for  the  street,  he  said,  a 
little  imperatively — 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Edith  ?  " 

My  face  commenced  burning,  and  I  answered, 
with  a  confusion  of  spirit  that  I  could  not  over 
come — 

"  To  take  a  walk,  sir." 

"  Come  into  the  parlor.  I  would  like  to  say  a 
word  to  you." 

I  followed  him. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said. 

I  sat  down,  and  he  drew  a  chair  nearly  in 
front  of  me.  He  was  considerably  disturbed  in 
mind. 

"  You  were  out  at  this  time  yesterday !  "  He 
spoke  affirmatively. 


164  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  I  was."  My  answer  was  given  without  hesi 
tation. 

"Where?" 

11 1  was  in  Elm  street." 

"  Do  you  visit  anybody  in  Elm  street?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Then,  pray,  for  what  purpose  were  you 
there?" 

I  had  taken  off  my  bonnet  and  laid  it  on  the 
piano ;  unpinned  my  light  mantilla  and  pushed 
it  back  from  my  shoulders,  to  show  that  I  under 
stood  the  interview  to  be  one  of  moment,  and 
likely  to  last  for  some  time.  These  acts  helped 
me  to  gather  back  the  self-possession  I  was  losing, 
and  of  which  I  felt  conscious  of  standing  greatly 
in  need. 

"  For  what  purpose  were  you  there  ?  "  My 
father  repeated  his  interrogatory  before  I  could 
frame  an  answer  in  my  mind. 

"  I  was  there  to  meet  Mr.  Holman,"  said  I, 
bravely.  As  I  thus  answered,  I  looked  at  my 
father  with  a  steadiness  that  a  little  disconcerted 
him. 

"  And  you  have  the  boldness  to  say  that  to  my 
face  I  "  he  exclaimed,  losing  command  of  himself. 

"  I  hope  never  to  be  guilty  of  an  act  that  I 
would  conceal  from  my  father  when  questioned 
by  him,"  was  my  answer.  "I  am  not  conscious 
of  having  done  anything  wrong." 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  165 

He  was  too  much  confounded  by  what  I  had 
said  to  know  how  to  meet  the  case  promptly  ;  and 
while  he  hesitated,  I  went  on. 

"  Mr.  Holman  has  communicated  to  me  the  re 
sult  of  his  interview.  While  I  had  not  ventured 
to  hope  for  your  approval  and  consent,  I  was 
scarcely  prepared  for  the  cruel  manner  of  your 
denial.  I  did  not  believe  that  my  father  would 
wound  and  insult  a  young  man  who  came  to  him 
respectfully  and  honorably,  to  solicit  the  hand  of 
his  daughter." 

"  Peace  I  "  exclaimed  my  father,  losing  com 
mand  of  himself. 

I  remained  silent. 

"  This  matter  must  stop  where  it  is  !  "  He  spoke 
resolutely. 

"  I  am  a  woman,  remember !  "  And  I  gave  to 
the  words  all  the  meaning  it  was  possible  to  con 
vey  in  the  tone  of  my  voice.  He  was  driving  me 
into  resolute  antagonism,  and  I  had  a  will  equal 
to  the  emergency. 

"  You  must  give  up  this  fellow's  company !  " 
My  father  spoke  with  just  a  little  less  of  assumed 
authority. 

Fellow !  How  the  word  quickened  my  heart 
with  indignant  pulses  !  Fellow  !  And  applied  to 
Edgar !  This  was  too  much.  Looking  steadily 
at  my  father,  I  replied : 

"  The  heart  does  not  love  by  square  and  rule, 


; 


166  OUR  NEIGHBORS   IN 

nor  ask  of  authority  how  it  shall  beat.  It  is  su 
preme  in  its  own  world." 

"  Have  done,  will  you !  "  He  spoke  very  im 
patiently. 

"  You  have  summoned  me  to  answer,"  I  said, 
in  a  voice  the  calmness  of  which  surprised  myself. 
"  If  you  do  not  wish  to  hear  me,  well,  I  can  be 
silent." 

"  Self-willed,  wrong-headed  girl !  You  shall 
bitterly  repent  all  this !  "  replied  my  father. 

"  There  will  come  pain  and  sorrow,  I  doubt  not ; 
but  never  repentance."  Then,  after  a  little  period 
of  silence,  I  said,  taking  on  a  firm  bearing, 
"  Opposition  will  be  of  no  avail,  sir  ;  the  question 
is  settled.  I  am  betrothed  to  Edgar  Hoi  man ; 
and  I  will  keep  my  pledges  until  death.  If  you 
will  not  permit  him  to  visit  me  here,  I  must  sub 
mit  to  the  humiliating  necessity  you  impose,  and 
meet  him  elsewhere — in  the  street,  if  need 
be." 

He  grew  very  pale  instantly. 

"  You  have  driven  us  to  precipitate  avowals, 
and  a  life-compact  that  seems  hurriedly  made,"  I 
continued,  "  but  now  that  we  have  cast  the  die, 
let  me  pray  you  to  be  our  father,  and  not  our 
antagonist;  our  best  friend,  and  not  our  enemy. 
You  have  permitted  an  unjust  prejudice  against 
Edgar  to  come  into  your  mind.  He  is  worthy  of 
your  child — in  all  things  worthy,  dear  father !  Oh, 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  167 

receive  him ;  receive  him  for  the  sake  of  the 
daughter  you  have  loved !  " 

I  leaned  towards  him  and  spoke  in  pleading 
tones.  But  he  answered  hoarsely,  and  in  bitter 
rejection  of  my  appeal. 

"  Never !  The  mean,  sneaking  wretch  shall 
never  have  countenance  of  me !  " 

"  He  is  not  a  mean,  sneaking  wretch,"  I  replied, 
"  but  high-minded  and  honorable.  Your  daugh 
ter's  choice,  which  will  never  pass  to  ano 
ther." 

"Beware,  mad  girl!"  There  was  menace  in 
my  father's  eyes.  "  I  will  not  see  myself  defied 
and  insulted  by  a  beggarly  upstart.  It  shall  not 
be  as  you  fondly  imagine." 

"  You  cannot  alter  what  God  has  ordained," 
said  I,  firmly.  "A  woman's  heart  does  not  love 
by  prescription.  Did  my  mother's?"  I  looked 
with  steady  eyes  into  my  father's  face. 

But  he  was  blind  in  his  disappointment.  He  had 
looked  to  the  attainment  of  a  desired  thing  in  my 
marriage,  and  it  maddened  him  to  be  thwarted. 
He  had  made  money  and  position  the  great  good ; 
and  I  was  affianced  to  a  poor  clerk !  It  was  more 
than  he  could  bear. 

"  Go  your  ways !  Go  your  ways,  rash  girl !  " 
he  said,  at  length,  rising  and  moving  towards  the 
door.  "  Life  has  always  its  reckoning  days,  and 
yours  will  come  !  " 


168  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

I  sat  in  tears  for  some  time  after  he  left  the 
room.  Then  putting  on  my  bonnet  again,  I  went 
from  the  house,  and  met  Edgar  according  to  ap 
pointment. 

The  troubled  life  which  I  passed  during  the 
weeks  and  months  that  followed  I  will  not  de 
scribe.  My  father's  opposition  to  Edgar  did  not 
in  the  least  abate,  and  I  had  to  meet  him  at  the 
houses  of  friends  or  in  the  street — to  me,  often,  a 
bitter  humiliation.  He  would  have  visited  me 
at  my  own  home,  in  spite  of  my  father's  opposi 
tion,  but  I  would  not  have  one  so  dear  subjected 
to  insult;  I  could  not  bear  it.  My  relation  to 
Edgar  did  not  cause  me  to  withdraw  from  society, 
but  led  me,  rather,  to  mingle  in  it  more  freely,  for 
the  reason  that  I  often  met  him  when  abroad,  but 
never  at  home. 

It  had  become  very  soon  apparent  that  Mr. 
Congreve  knew  of  my  relation  to  Edgar.  He 
was  annoyed  and  disappointed,  and  for  a  time 
kept  himself  at  a  distance,  greatly  to  my  relief. 
But  after  a  while,  as  we  met  frequently  in  com 
pany,  he  gradually  drew  nearer  again,  and  never 
seemed  better  pleased  than  when  by  my  side.  I 
saw  this  change  with  regret.  If  he  had  been  over- 
intrusive,  I  would  have  firmly  repelled  him.  But 
he  was  not.  There  was  a  certain  subdued  re 
serve  about  him,  altogether  different  from  the 
confident  way  in  which  he  had  sought  to  impress 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  .  169 

me  in  the  beginning  of  our  acquaintance;  in  fact, 
what  I  plainly  felt  to  be  an  acknowledgment  of 
my  affianced  position.  This  being  so,  I  could  do 
no  less  than  treat  him  with  that  courtesy  which 
right  feeling  'dictated.  He  appeared  satisfied 
with  this — too  well  satisfied  to  please  me.  I  no 
ticed  that  he  was  on  excellent  terms  with  my 
father ;  that  when  they  met  it  was  with  a  cordi 
ality  which,  to  my  keenly  observant  eyes,  inti 
mated  something  more  than  common  social  ame 
nity.  I  did  not  like  its  aspect. 

No  change  showing  itself  in  my  father's  treat 
ment  of  our  case,  we  fixed  the  time  of  marriage, 
which  was  about  a  year  from  the  period  of  our 
engagement. 

Edgar  was  receiving  a  good  salary,  and  I  was 
willing  to  try  the  world  with  him,  in  what  some 
might  think  a  humble  way.  The  announcement 
was  made  to  my  father,  but  he  deigned  no  re 
sponse.  I  did  not,  however,  fail  to  see  that  he 
was  in  a  more  abstracted  state  afterwards.  We 
had  ceased  to  have  any  controversy  on  the  subject 
of  my  attachment  to  Edgar.  It  was  useless,  both 
saw,  and  therefore  abandoned.  No  concealment 
of  our  engagement  was  made  by  either  Edgar  or 
myself,  and  so  it  became  known  in  all  the  circles 
where  I  visited.  No  particular  change  showed 
itself  in  the  deportment  of  Mr.  Congreve.  He 
was  as  polite,  attentive,  and  deferential  as  before, 
8 


170  OUK   NEIGHBORS   IN 

but  I  thought  a  little  less  familiar.  This  seemed 
natural,  and  made  me  feel  his  presence  as  less 
repulsive.  I  did  not  like,  however,  his  treatment 
of  Edgar,  nor  his  way  of  looking  at  him  when 
they  happened  to  meet  in  my  presence.  I  had  so 
formally  introduced  them,  that  Mr.  Congreve 
could  not  help  a  recognition.  Had  he  failed  in 
respectful  deportment  I  would  have  resented  it, 
as  he  must  have  felt  assured.  Their  conversation 
was  always  limited  to  cold  common-places.  Usu 
ally,  if  Edgar  was  present  in  any  company,  Mr. 
Congreve  did  not  intrude  himself  upon  me,  ex 
cept  in  a  brief,  casual  way.  But  I  now  and  then 
detected  his  gaze  fixed  upon  Edgar,  with  an  ex 
pression  that  sometimes  made  my  flesh  creep — it 
was  so  strange  and  sinister;  and  I  felt  at  such 
times  that  he  would  do  him  evil  if  in  his  power. 

Time  passed  on,  with  little  to  break  the  regular 
progression  of  our  lives,  until  we  came  to  within  a 
month  of  the  day  fixed  for  the  marriage  ceremo 
nial.  Through  Aunt  Mary  I  learned  that  my 
father  would  hear  no  reference  to  the  subject 
whatever ;  and  refused  to  supply  me,  at  her  soli 
citation,  with  the  money  required  for  a  bridal  out 
fit.  From  her  own  slender  means  I  received  what 
was  needed,  and  so  made  all  preparation  for  the 
event. 

About  this  time  I  yielded  to  a  gradually  ap 
proaching  depression  of  spirits.  I  had  felt,  for 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  171 

some  time  the  intrusion  of  a  shadow  upon  my 
mind,  as  if  an  evil  thing  were  drawing,  invisibly, 
near.  At  first,  this  was  very  indistinctly  per 
ceived,  but  it  grew  more  and  more  palpable  as 
our  appointed  marriage-day  came  nearer.  Fright 
ful  dreams  haunted  me  in  the  night,  so  that  I  often 
came  from  my  room  in  the  morning  pale  and  un- 
refreshed. 

One  evening  I  had  met  Edgar  at  the  house  of  a 
friend,  and  was  returning  home  with  him.  I  was 
more  depressed  in  "mind  than  usual.  There  was 
on  my  spirit  a  weight  as  of  some  impending  ca 
lamity.  I  started  and  trembled  nervously  if  any 
one  came  suddenly  by,  or  walked  closely  behind 
us.  Edgar  talked  to  me  in  tender  assurance,  and 
pointed  my  thought  to  the  sweet,  coming  future. 
But  I  remained  sad  and  troubled,  even  to  tears. 

"  The  blessing  is  too  great  for  me,"  I  said,  as 
we  stood,  in  the  sad  moonlight,  at  the  gate  leading 
into  my  home.  "  The  cup  too  full  of  precious 
wine  for  mortal  lips.  Oh,  Edgar !  if  it  should  fall, 
and  be  broken  at  our  feet !  " 

"  It  will  not,  dear  Edith  !  "  he  replied,  with  con 
fidence.  "  An  evil  spirit,  envious  of  such  joy,  is 
trying  to  make  you  wretched  by  doubts.  We 
have  Heaven  on  our  side." 

" I  trust  so,'K  was  my  answer;  yet  no  assurance 
came  with  his  words. 

"To-morrow  evening  I  will  see  you  at  Mrs. 


172  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

Darling's,"  lie  said,  as  he  held  my  hands.  There 
was  a  hard  substance  in  his  palm,  as  it  pressed 
against  mine,  about  the  size  of  a  silver  dollar. 

"  I  will  be  there,  of  course,"  was  my  reply. 
There  was  to  be  company  at  Mrs.  Darling's,  and 
we  were  invited.  Then  followed  a  kiss,  and  a 
pressure  of  the  hand.  I  had  scarcely  any  other 
consciousness,  until  I  was  in  my  room,  and  the 
token  he  had  left  with  me  held  close  to  the  light. 
My  lips  touched  it  almost  as  quickly  as  my  eyes. 
It  was  a  miniature  of  himself,  in  a  gold  medallion, 
wonderfully  life-like.  I  slept  with  it  against  my 
heart,  and  dreamed  for  that  night,  sweet,  tranquil 
dreams. 

But  the  old  pressure  on  my  feelings  came  back 
with  the  morning,  and  I  brought  down  a  pale  face 
to  the  breakfast  table.  The  meal  passed,  as  had 
become  usual,  in  silence.  At  dinner-time,  I  no 
ticed  something  unusual  in  my  father's  treatment 
of  me.  His  manner  was  kinder,  and  his  voice 
gentler.  If  my  quick  ear  did  not  deceive  me,  there 
was  a  shade  of  compassion  in  his  tones.  I  could 
not  understand  the  way  in  which  he  looked  at  me 
sometimes.  It  excited  and  troubled  me. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked,  on  seeing 
me  dressed  to  go  out,  at  tea-time.  He  seemed 
surprised. 

"  To  Mrs.  Darling's,"  I  answered. 

"  I  wouldn't  go,  Edith."   He  spoke  quickly,  and 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  173 

with  a  gravity  of  manner  that  concealed,  evidently, 
a  reason  which  he  considered  conclusive. 

"  I  have  promised  to  be  there."  Very  earnestly 
and  inquiringly  I  looked  at  my  father  on  giving 
this  reply. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  not  go.  Take  rny  ad 
vice,  for  once,  and  remain  at  home."  He  spoke 
very  seriously,  but  with  unusual  kindness  of  man 
ner.  My  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him,  but  he  did 
not  look  at  me  in  a  direct  way. 

"  If  you  know  of  any  reason  why  I  should  not 
go,"  said  I,  conscious,  from  a  sense  of  faintness, 
that  a  death-like  pallor  was  coming  into  my  face, 
u  don't  conceal  it  from  me.  It  would  be  cruel.  I 
have  promised  to  be  there,  and  must  keep  my 
word,  unless  a  barrier  lies  in  the  way  that  pru 
dence  warns  me  not  to  pass." 

"  There  is  such  a  barrier."  My  father  looked 
even  more  serious  than  in  the  beginning. 

"Then  in  Heaven's  name,  what  is  it  ?  "  I  started 
to  my  feet,  no  longer  able  to  keep  my  place  at 
the  table,  and  -bent  my  white  face,  beseechingly, 
towards  him.  My  father's  silence,  and  perplexed 
manner,  only  made  suspense  more  feeble. 

"  Has  anything  happened  to  Edgar  ?  "  I  now 
demanded. 

"  Yes."  He  said  it  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  fearful 
of  the  effect. 

"  What  of  him  ?     Speak  !  "     I  felt  as  if  I  were 


174  CUE   NEIGHBORS   IN 

suffocating.  I  reached  out  my  hands,  and  grap 
pled  my  father's  garments.  "  Speak !  "  I  repeated. 
"Speak,  or  I  shall  die!" 

"  Be  calm,  my  daughter,"  he  said.  "  There  may 
be  no  truth  in  the  charge." 

"  In  what  charge  ?  "  Oh,  sir,  if  there  is  any  pity 
in  your  heart,  speak  out  plainly,  and  let  me  know 
all  at  once  !  What  charge  ?  " 

I  looked  at  Aunt  Mary,  but  saw,  from  her  pale 
face,  that  she  was  ignorant  like  myself. 

My  father  now  arose,  and  taking  my  hand,  led 
me  from  our  breakfast-room  into  the  parlor,  across 
the  hall,  Aunt  Mary  following.  I  moved  like  one 
in  a  dream. 

"  Sit  down,  my  child.  There  !  "  and  he  placed 
me  on  a  sofa,  Aunt  Mary  sitting  down  beside  me 
and  encircling  me  with  her  arm. 

"  What  charge,  father?"  I  had.  grown  calm 
from  partial  stupor  of  mind. 

"Edgar  was  arrested  to-day,  on  a  charge  of 
forgery !  "  The  words  burned  like  a  quick  fire 
through  my  brain. 

"  The  charge  is  false  1 "  I  remember  uttering 
that  denial  in  a  kind  of  wild  phrenzy ;  but  can 
recollect  nothing  of  what  immediately  followed. 


THE   CORNER   HOUtfE. 


175 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Y  mind  lay  for  a  long  time  be 
wildered  in  the  maze  of  events 
that  succeeded.  I  was  hurt, 
badly,  by  the  shock  which  fell 
upon  me  while  in  a  state  of 
highly-wrought  excitement.  My 
father  knew  of  Edgar's  arrest  at  din 
ner-time,  and  if  he  had  informed  Aunt 
Mary  then,  and  left  it  to  her  to  break 
the  cruel  intelligence  in  the  way  her 
woman's  heart  would  have  suggested,  the  effect 
might  not  have  been  so  disastrous.  As  it  was, 
I  went  down  prostrate  with  the  blow. 

I  have  a  dim  remembrance  of  weeks  in  which 
I  seemed  like  one  in  a  nightmare,  from  which 
there  was  a  vain  effort  to  awaken — weeks  of  unde 
fined  suffering,  that  ached  on  at  the  heart  in  never- 
ceasing  anguish. 

Very  clearly  do  I  recollect  the  day — it  was  seve 
ral  weeks,  as  I  learned,  after  my  father's  dreadful 


176  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

communication — when  I  found  myself  clothed,  as 
it  were,  and  in  my  right  mind.  I  was  reclining 
on  a  sofa,  in  my  own  chamber,  dressed  in  a  morn 
ing  wrapper.  I  remembered  getting  up,  and  put 
ting  on  the  wrapper,  with  Aunt  Mary's  assistance 
— but  as  if  in  a  dream.  But  now  I  was  wide 
awake.  Aunt  Mary  sat  near  me,  with  some  needle 
work  in  her  hands.  I  looked  into  her  face  for 
a  little  while  before  speaking.  It  was  greatly 
changed,  being  pale  and  care-worn ;  and  there 
was  about  her  sweet  mouth  a  new  expression  of 
sadness. 

"  Aunt  Mary ! "  I  spoke,  in  a  half-eager  way, 
that  I  could  not  repress. 

She  dropped  her  work  instantly,  and  came  and 
bent  over  me,  looking  down  into  my  face  with  a 
tender,  yearning,  pitying  love,  that  made  the  tears 
spring  into  my  eyes. 

u  Will  you  have  anything,  dear  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  How  long  have  I  been  sick,  Aunt  Mary  ?  "  I 
inquired. 

"  Not  a  very  great  while,"  she  answered.  "  But 
you  are  better." 

I  did  not  clearly  understand  the  meaning  of 
her  face.  Putting  my  hand  to  my  forehead,  I 
tried  to  recall  the  past.  It  began  to  break  upon 
me — dimly,  at  first;  then  distinct  and  startling. 
The  anxious  troubled  way  in  which  Aunt  Mary 
looked  at,  and  hung  about  me,  helped  to  quicken 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  177 

my  memory  of  the  dreadful  incident  I  have  re 
lated. 

"  How  long  is  it  since — since  ?  " — I  could  not 
put- my  thought  in  words;  it  was  too  shocking. 
But  Aunt  Mary  understood  what  I  meant,  and 
replied : 

"  Nearly  six  weeks." 

"  O  no,  aunt!  Not  so  long  as  that."  It  seemed 
to  me,  then,  in  my  own  consciousness,  as  if  my 
father  had  spoken  that  blasting  sentence  scarcely 
an  hour  before. 

"You  have  been  sick,  dear,  for  a  long  time, 
and  are  still  very  weak,"  said  my  aunt,  in  great 
apparent  anxiety.  "  Don't  let  your  mind  become 
excited,  or  you  will  lose  yourself  again." 

-Lose  yourself  again!  What  a  strange,  low 
shudder  crept  along  my  nerves.  Then  I  had  lost 
myself!  How  many,  many  times  since  have  I 
wished  that  I  had  never  been  found  again. 

"  What  about  Edgar,  Aunt  Mary  ?  "  I  spoke 
with  a  sudden  flush  of  eagerness. 

"  You  are  too  weak  to  talk  about  him  now," 
she  replied.  "  Wait  until  you  grow  stronger." 

Wait !  Tell  the  traveller,  dying  of  thirst,  to 
wait,  with  the  cooling  draught  at  his  lips  ! 

"  I  must  hear  now,  aunt,"  said  I.  "  I  am 
stronger  to  hear  than  to  wait.  Edgar  was  charged 
with  forgery.  1  remember  that." 

Aunt  Mary's  eyes  were  brimming  with  tears ; 
8* 


178  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

and  her  face  so  sad  that  the  very  sight  of  it  made 
hope  expire  in  my  heart.  Still  I  must  know  the 
truth  if  I  died  in  hearing  it. 

"  Speak,  Aunt  Mary.  I  must  know  all.  Don't 
conceal  anything." 

My  strange  calmness  made  her  think  me  stronger 
to  bear  than  I  really  was. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "he  was  charged  with 
forgery." 

"But,  it  has  not  been  proved  against  him  ?  "  I 
spoke  in  a  quick,  breathless  manner. 

"  The  trial  will  take  place  next  month,"  she 
replied. 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?" 

Aunt  Mary  did  not  reply. 

"  Not  in  prison  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

It  seemed  as  if  a  sword  had  gone  through  my 
heart,  so  quick  and  piercing  was  the  pain. 

"  Mr.  Congreve  oifered  to  go  bail  for  him,  but 
he  refused  to  accept  the  favor,"  said  Aunt  Mary. 
"  It  was  a  kind  act  in  him.  They  say  that  he 
was  much  affected  by  the  unhappy  event.  In 
deed,  everybody  was  shocked,  surprised,  and 
grieved." 

"  But  his  innocence  will  appear  on  the  trial !  " 
I  spoke  in  an  assured  manner. 

"  I  trust  that  it  may  be  so  ;  but "  Aunt 

Mary  hesitated. 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  179 

"But  what?"  I  asked. 

"The  evidence  is  strong  against  him — too 
strong,  I  fear,  for  any  reasonable  ground  of  hope." 

I  thought  this  sentence  would  kill  me.  I  felt 
a  dizziness  of  brain,  and  appeared  to  be  in  sud 
den  darkness.  I  did  not,  however,  lose  myself. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Aunt  Mary  ?  "  I  put  the 
question,  faintly. 

"  You  are  not  strong  enough  to  talk  about  this 
now,"  she  answered.  "Don't,  let  me  beg  of  you, 
pursue  it  any  further." 

"  But,  I  want  to  know  what  you  think."  I 
persisted  in  my  interrogation. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  she  replied,  in  a 
reluctant  and  distressed  way.  "  But  you  will  be 
stronger  after  a  while,  Edith,  and  then  we  can  talk 
more  on  this  subject.  Enough  has  been  said 
now." 

She  was  sitting  near  the  end  of  the  sofa  on 
which  I  reclined,  and  her  hand  was  resting  on  my 
forehead.  Its  weight  seemed  to  oppress  me,  and 
once  or  twice  I  made  a  movement  to  push  it  aside, 
as  too  heavy  for  endurance ;  but  the  strength  or 
will  to  do  so  was  lacking,  and  I  remained  passive. 
I  seemed  to  be  lapsing  away  into  unconscious 
ness.  And  it  was  really  so,  for  I  had  not  the 
strength  of  mind  or  body  sufficient  to  bear  the 
news  about  Edgar  which  I  had  extorted  from 
Aunt  Mary. 


180  0UR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

Again  I  lay  in  that  oppressive  nightmare  which 
had  been  broken  for  a  little  while,  and  did  not 
come  back  to  real  life  until  after  the  trial  was  over. 
Then  I  came  back  only  in  part ;  for  while  I  under 
stood  the  facts  which  had  transpired,  the  know 
ledge  thereof  did  not  reach,  with  acuteness,  the 
region  of  pain.  My  mind  was  dull.  Its  sensi 
tiveness  had  departed.  I  did  not,  as  at  my  first 
awaking,  urge  my  questions  upon  Aunt  Mary  in 
regard  to  the  fate  of  Edgar.  From  her  manner  I 
inferred  the  worst,  and  my  inference  was  correct. 
I  felt  that  I  should  know  all  soon  enough ;  that 
the  whole  truth,  when  it  came,  would  lie  upon  my 
heart  as  a  burden  never  to  be  thrown  aside. 

This  was  the  fact  I  learned : — On  the  trial,  evi 
dence  of  such  an  overwhelming  character  was  pro 
duced,  that  no  question  of  his  guilt  was  left  in  my 
mind.  The  jury,  with  scarcely  a  pretence  of  con 
sultation,  rendered  a  verdict  of  guilty,  and  the 
Court  considered  the  charge  as  so  fully  made  out 
against  him,  that  they  awarded  the  heavy  penalty 
of  seven  years  in  the  State  prison !  Aunt  Mary 
had  given  up  the  case  entirely.  All  the  evidence 
adduced  she  had  examined  with  the  most  scrupu 
lous  care,  and  she  was  able  to  reach  no  conclusion 
but  the  worst. 

I  could  not  think  of  him,  however,  as  a  man 
who  had  stained  his  soul  with  an  evil  deed.  Sin 
gular  as  it  may  appear,  he  was  always  in  my 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  181 

imagination  as  innocent  as  when  I  placed  my  hand 
in  his,  and  gave  him  the  love  of  a  heart  that  knew 
no  guile.  There  lay  between  us,  I  felt,  an  ever- 
impassable  gulf.  He  was  to  me  as  one  dead.  Yet 
I  thought  of  him  with  a  sad  tenderness,  and  wept 
for  him  weak,  vain  tears.  His  miniature  was  still 
in  my  possession.  I  knew  that  it  was  something 
upon  which  no  eye  but  mine  could  look  without 
scorn;  and  so  I  kept  it  to  gaze  upon  in  secret. 
The  pure,  sweet,  true  eyes,  that  turned  so  lovingly 
to  my  face — they  kept  away  all  idea  of  crime. 
He  was  lost  to  me,  I  felt,  yet  in  my  heart  there 
was  no  veil  upon  his  image.  I  knew  him  and 
thought  of  him  only  as  he  had  been  to  me  in  the  past. 
Months  followed  each  other  in  a  weary  mono 
tonous  way.  I  found  no  interest  in  anything, 
Idly  and  listlessly  the  days  passed.  I  would  see 
no  company,  and  resisted  all  attempts  to  get  me 
out  of  the  house  for  even  a  ride.  So  my  life 
moved  on  for  nearly  a  year.  How  patient,  how 
wise  in  her  adaptations  to  my  state,  how  loving, 
was  dear  Aunt  Mary  during  all  this  time.  My 
father  often  lost  patience  with  me,  and  put  on  a 
harsh  exterior  in  his  efforts  to  break  the  spell  that 
surrounded  me;  but  she  was  never  changing  in 
her  love,  never  weary  with  her  unhappy  and  often 
capricious  charge.  What  she  seemed  most  to  de 
sire,  was  to  get  me  interested  in  doing  something. 
Occasionally  she  would  ask  me  to  perform  for  her 


182  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

some  little  service  of  needlework,  which  I  did 
with  a  ready  acquiescence  that  I  saw  gratified  her. 
The  pleasure  which  I  felt  in  pleasing  Aunt  Mary 
was  the  first  available  power  that  she  gained  over 
me.  She  did  not  use  it  in  a  way  to  weaken,  but 
to  strengthen  it.  A  new  request  for  service  did 
not  follow  immediately  a  service  performed,  lest  I 
should  grow  weary.  And  so  she  led  me  on,  until 
I  found  occupation  so  much  of  a  relief  from  dull, 
dreamy  idleness,  that  my  hands  became  busy  all 
the  day. 

The  first  time  I  went  out  was  on  a  mission  of 
charity  to  a  poor  sick  woman  in  our  immediate 
neighborhood.  Her  thankful  eyes  were  before 
me  for  many  hours  afterwards,  and  in  looking  at 
them  I  had  my  reward.  I  went  again ;  and  the 
good  I  was  thus  able  to  do,  strengthened  me  for  a 
new  and  better  life. 

I  was  coming  home  one  day  from  a  visit  paid  to 
a  sick  neighbor,  when  I  met  Mr.  Con  grave  for  the 
first  time  in  over  a  year.  I  saw  him  a  little  way 
in  advance  of  me,  as  I  came  into  the  square  on 
which  our  house  stood,  and  endeavored  to  pass 
without  recognising  him.  But  he  stopped  directly 
in  front  of  me,  and  looking  kindly  into  my  face, 
said,  in  a  tone  of  quiet  interest,  as  he  reached  forth 
his  hand: 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  out  again,  Miss  Edith." 

His  manner  was  so  respectful,  so  kind,  and  so 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  183 

unobtrusive,  that  I  could  do  no  less  than  thank 
him  for  the  interest  he  expressed,  and  permit  him 
to  take  my  hand. 

"  Your  health  is  better,  I  hope  ?  "  he  remarked, 
as  he  still  held  my  hand. 

I  said  yes,  only.  My  feeling  towards  him  was 
one  of  entire  indifference,  when  we  first  met. 
Not  a  pulse  beat  quicker  at  the  sight  of  him. 
But,  while  he  yet  held  my  hand,  and  looked  at 
me,  I  remembered  that  he  had  offered  to  go  bail 
for  Edgar  Holman,  and  a  throb  of  grateful  emo 
tion  sent  a  conscious  glow  to  my  face.  He  could 
not  have  failed  to  notice  the  change.  I  now  made 
a  motion  to  pass  on,  and  he  bowed,  respectfully, 
without  any  attempt  to  detain  me. 

As  my  health  had  begun  to  fail  under  such  a 
long  confinement  to  the  house,  and  depression  of 
spirits,  my  father  was  urgent  that  I  should  ride 
out  with  him,  and  get  the  benefit  of  fresh  air, 
exercise,  and  change  of  scene.  The  thought  of 
going  beyond  the  little  circle  that  now  included 
my  range  of  charities  in  the  immediate  neighbor 
hood,  was  painfully  repugnant ;  but  I  yielded 
at  last  to  my  fathers  continued  importunity, 
He  drove  me  into  the  country,  and  amid  scenery 
that  stirred  many  old  memories — softening  me 
more  than  once  to  tears.  He  tried  to  get  me  into 
conversation ;  but  I  had  no  heart  to  talk,  and 
remained  silent  for  most  of  the  drive. 


184  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

I  was  better  for  this  break  in  the  dull  monoto 
ny  of  my  existence.  Again  I  was  driven  out,  and 
it  did  me  good.  From  this  time,  I  was  gradually 
brought  into  social  life.  I  tried  to  resist  the  pres 
sure  that  was  on  me,  but  was  not  strong  enough. 
A  few  old  friends  came  closer  around  me,  and 
then  drew  me  back  to  themselves.  But  I  was  not 
the  woman  of  a  year  ago.  Of  that,  I  was  deeply 
conscious.  Life  had  nothing  to  attract  me.  I 
saw  no  dear  hope  lying  even  dimly  visible  in  the 
far-away  future.  Of  Edgar,  I  tried  to  think  as 
little  as  possible.  He  was  lost.  That  impression 
was  one  of  the  most  distinct  that  remained  with 
me.  He  had  passed  beyond  my  sight  and  reach, 
in  an  all-involving  disaster,  and  could  never  be 
restored  again.  I  did  not,  as  I  have  before  said, 
think  of  his  guilt  as  the  separating  gulf  that  lay 
between  us.  It  was  simply  impossible  for  me  to 
believe  him  capable  of  crime.  But  I  had  no 
power  to  reason  on  the  subject.  I  was  bewildered 
whenever  it  came  into  my  mind. 

In  going  back  into  society  again,  I '  met  Mr. 
Congreve  now  and  then.  He  was  very  kind,  but 
did  not  annoy  me  with  attentions.  I  saw  that  he 
was  not  so  cheerful  in  look  or  manner  as  he  had 
been  a  year  before.  Often  I  noticed  a  shade  of 
abstraction  on  his  face  which  was  almost  painful. 
There  was,  evidently,  something  not  pleasant  to 
contemplate  brooding  in  his  thought. 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  185 

Gradually,  and  by  approaches  so  imperceptible 
that  I  did  not  notice  them,  he  drew  nearer  to  me. 
We  met  oftener  than  before.  It  happened,  strange 
ly  I  sometimes  thought,  that  he  would  drop  in 
where  I  would  be  spending  an  evening.  Always 
at  these  times,  he  would  express  a  little  surprise  at 
seeing  me,  as  if  he  had  not  expected  to  find  me 
there.  I  had  reason,  afterwards,  to  believe,  that 
he  was  kept  informed  of  these  visits  by  my  father, 
who,  now  and  then,  found  himself  unable  to  call 
for  me,  when  Mr.  Congreve  became  my  escort 
home. 

So  the  time  moved  on,  and  by  steady  advances 
Mr.  Congreve  continued  to  draw  nearer  and 
nearer.  My  heart  was  in  too  palsied  a  condition 
to  take  the  alarm.  I  felt  something  of  the  old 
repulsion ;  but  not  as  strong  as  before.  In  fact, 
I  was  indifferent.  I  cannot  better  express  my 
state  of  mind  than  by  these  words. 

Next  came  visits.  These  were  at  first  made 
under  pretence  of  seeing  my  father.  They  ap 
peared  to  have  some  business  together.  Mr.  Con 
greve  was  largely  engaged  in  land  speculations, 
and  he  had  initiated  my  father  into  the  same  busi 
ness,  though  in  a  smaller  way.  Now  and  then  he 
came  when  my  father  was  out,  and  it  happening 
on  several  of  these  occasions  that  I  was  in  the 
parlor,  our  meeting  was  natural. 

Thus  were   we    continually  being    thrown  to- 


186  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

gether,  Mr.  Congreve  always  showing  a  delicacy 
of  feeling  that  made  his  company  more  agreeable 
than  offensive. 

At  last  I  clearly  understood  him.  What  I  had 
dimly  seen  from  the  beginning,  became  palpable. 
He  came  so  much  nearer,  that  mistake  was  im 
possible.  Then  my  sluggish  soul  quickened  into 
life,  and  I  made  a  violent  effort  to  disentangle 
myself  from  the  gossamer  threads  he  had  been 
weaving  around  me  so  long,  that  they  had  become 
turned  into  strong  cords.  But  I  was  feeble — 
feeble !  Alas,  for  the  blindness  that  left  me  to 
be  snared  by  the  fowler,  and  for  the  weakness  of 
will  that  left  me  in  the  net ! 

Aunt  Mary,  to  whom  I  went  as  my  best  and 
truest  friend,  counselled  me  right.  Ah,  why  did 
I  not  heed  her  counsel  ?  But  my  father  was  on 
the  other  side,  and  I  yielded. 

"  You  have  no  heart  to  give  awa}^  in  marriage 
to  this  man."  So  Aunt  Mary  spoke.  "  If  you 
go  to  him,  you  will  deceive  him,  and  burden  your 
self  with  duties  which  you  cannot  perform.  Re 
main  as  you  are,  my  dear  child.  It  were  better, 
a  thousand  times." 

But  I  felt  that  I  was  as  nothing.  That  life  had 
no  blessing  for  me,  and  that  it  could  not  have, 
possibly,  any  bitterer  cup  than  I  had  already 
drained  to  the  dregs.  If  my  father  had  so  set  bis 
heart  on  the  thing,  if  Mr.  Congreve  were  ,so  bent 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  187 

on  gaining  me  for  his  wife,  why  should  I  disap 
point  them  ?  I  even  argued  with  myself  that  self 
sacrifice  in  the  case  would  be  a  virtue. 

In  my  blindness  and  weakness  I  yielded.  My 
father  was  very  happy  when  consent  was  given  ; 
but  Aunt  Mary  looked  so  sad  that  I  pitied  her. 

"  You  take  it  too  much  to  heart,"  I  said  to  her. 
"  Eemember,  that  I  am  nothing  in  the  case.  It 
cannot  make  me  happier  or  more  miserable.  If 
they  desire  it,  why  should  I  say  no  ?  " 

u  It  is  something  to  you,  Edith,"  she  replied. 
u  Everything  to  you !  I  would  rather  see  you  die 
than  become  his  wife.  You  cannot  make  him 
happy.  It  is  impossible." 

"It  is  too  late  now,  Aunt  Mary."  I  simply 
answered.  And  I  felt  then  the  beginning  of  a 
repugnance  and  antagonism  which  have  steadily 
increased,  until  they  are  of  maddening  intensity. 

Up  to  the  last,  Aunt  Mary  opposed  my  mar 
riage  with  Mr.  Congreve;  but  I  had  not  strength 
sufficient  to  brave  my  father,  and  so  went  to  the 
altar  as  a  helpless  lamb  to  be  sacrificed. 

About  the  time  of  my  engagement  to  Mr.  Con 
greve,  I  met  a  young  man  who  had  been  a  clerk 
in  the  store  of  Fairfield  &  Co.  His  name  was 
Clyde.  He  seemed  disposed  to  make  himself 
familiar.  I  did  not  like  him.  There  was  a  look 
in  his  eyes  that  always  made  me  feel  uncomfort 
able.  Mr.  Congreve  knew  him,  I  observed ;  but 


188  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

not,  I  inferred,  as  an  agreeable  acquaintance. 
Clyde  often  intruded  upon  him,  I  thought,  judging 
from  the  expression  of  Mr.  Congreve's  face,  when 
the  young  man  engaged  him  in  conversation. 

The  thought  of  Mr.  Clyde  came  to  me  very  fre 
quently.  Why,  I  could  not  imagine.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  he  seemed  to  make  himself  dis 
agreeably  familiar  with  Mr.  Congreve.  I  asked 
him  once  about  the  young  man,  but  he  seemed 
annoyed  at  the  reference,  and  I  did  not  intrude 
his  name  again. 

Two  years  had  passed  since  the  separation  of 
Edgar  Holman  from  society,  as  a  criminal,  and  I 
was  within  a  week  of  my  marriage-day.  I  had 
been  spending  the  afternoon  with  a  friend,  and 
was  returning  home  a  little  after  sundown,  when 
I  heard  the  steps  of  a  man  approaching  a  little 
behind  me.  I  was  about  turning  to  see  who  it 
was,  when  I  heard  my  name  pronounced. 

"  Mr.*Clyde ! "  I  ejaculated,  with  a  start,  as  I 
looked  back. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  in  a  hesitating,  embar 
rassed  way.  "  But  I  wish  to  say  a  word  to  you 
alone,  and  have  intruded  for  the  purpose." 

u  If  you  can  call  at  my  father's,  we  can  be 
alone,"  I  answered,  as  a  vague  fear  crept  into  my 
heart. 

"  I  must  not  be  seen  there,"  was  his  mysterious 
reply.  "  No,  I  will  say  it  here,  and  it  is  this— 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  189 

don't  marry  Mr.  Congreve.     Remember,  I  have 
warned  you ! " 

And  he  left  me  standing  in  such  amazement, 
that  I  did  not  stir  for  some  moments.  This  warn 
ing,  given  in  a  tone  of  deep  solemnity,  went  shud- 
deringly  through  every  nerve.  Why  did  I  not 
heed  it  ? 

The  incident  disturbed  me  deeply.  But  I  did 
not  mention  it  to  Aunt  Mary.  It  would  only  give 
a  new  argument  in  her  opposition  to  the  approach 
ing  marriage,  and  I  wished  to  be  let  alone. 

"  Remember,  I  have  warned  you  !  "  I  heard  the 
injunction  sounding  in  my  ears  for  hours  after  its 
utterance,  and  with  increasing,  rather  than  dimi 
nishing,  emphasis  and  solemnity. 

I  imagined,  at  my  next  meeting  with  Mr.  Con 
greve,  that  he  looked  at  me  a  little  strangely  and 
doubtfully  at  first.  But  the  impression  passed 
quickly  away. 

The  time  came  down  to  within  three  days  of 
the  marriage.  I  was  in  the  street,  when  a  man 
passed  quickly,  flinging  into  my  startled  ears  as 
he  did  so  the  words — 

"  Remember,  I  have  warned  you." 

I  knew  the  voice  too  well.  It  seemed  as  if  I 
would  fall  in  the  sudden  withdrawal  of  strength. 
But,  I  managed  to  get  home,  and  into  my  room, 
where  I  lay  for  an  hour  as  weak  as  a  little  child. 


190 


OUR   NEIGHBORS   Ilf 


CHAPTEK  XVIII. 


OST  unwisely,  I  did  not  heed 
that  warning.  It  was  sufficient 
to  make  any  woman  pause  and 
start  back  from  a  giddy  height 
such  as  that  upon  which  I  was 
standing.  Again  it  came  to  me, 
solemn  and  emphatic  as  at  first.  Only 
a  single  day  intervened.  The  young 
friend  who  was  to  be  my  bridesmaid,  had 
been  with  me  all  day,  and  left,  about  night 
fall,  to  go  home.  I  went  to  the  garden  gatfe  with 
her,  and  stood  talking  there.  After  she  left,  I  re 
mained  at  the  gate  for  a  little  while,  but  turned  to 
go  in  as  I  saw  a  man  approaching  along  the  pave 
ment.  I  was  half  way  to  the  house,  when  the 
words — 

"  Remember,  I  have  warned  you  !  "  were  flung 
after  me,  in  a  deep  undertone  that  chilled  me  like 
an  Arctic  atmosphere. 

"  What's  the  matter,  dear?  "  asked  Aunt  Mary, 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  191 

with  a  look  of  alarm,  as  I  came  into  the  house. 
She  happened  to  be  standing  in  the  hall. 

Why  did  I  not  tell  her  the  truth  ?  Why  did  I 
keep  from  her  intelligence  of  that  strange,  repeated 
warning? 

I  answered  in  some  evasive  way,  and  got  up  to 
my  room  as  quickly  as  possible.  When  the  tea- 
bell  rang,  I  was  lying  on  the  bed  in  only  a  half- 
conscious  state.  With  an  effort  I  aroused  myself, 
but  felt,  as  I  attempted  to  control  my  state  of 
mind,  that  it  was  too  disturbed  for  any  outward 
appearance  of  calmness.  I  could  not  meet  my 
father  and  Aunt  Mary  without  drawing  upon  me 
a  scrutiny  that  I  wished  to  avoid,  and  so  did  not 
go  down  at  the  ringing  of  the  bell.  As  I  ex 
pected,  a  servant  came  after  a  while  to  summon 
me,  but  I  sent  word  that  I  had  a  headache,  and 
didn't  wish  to  eat  anything. 

Aunt  Mary  came  up  immediately  after  supper, 
bringing  me  a  cup  of  tea.  My  hand  trembled  as 
I  raised  it  to  my  lips,  in  spite  of  a  strong  effort  to 
hide  the  continued  nervous  disturbance  from  which 
I  was  suffering.  Very  little  had  been  said  on  either 
side,  when  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door.  A  servant 
had  come  to  say  that  Mr.Congreve  was  down  stairs. 

"I  can't  see  him  to-night,  Aunt  Mary,"  I  said. 
"  It  is  impossible !  My  head  is  aching  wildly,  and 
you  see  that  I  am  all  in  a  tremor.  I  don't  know 
what  has  come  over  me !  " 


192  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

"  You  are  not  fit  to  meet  any  one,  and  T  will 
see  Mr.  Congreve  and  excuse  you,"  she  replied, 
leaving  the  room  and  going  down  stairs.  She 
came  back  in  a  little  while  and  said  that  Mr.  Con 
greve  asked,  as  a  particular  favor,  that  I  would  see 
him,  if  it  was  only  for  a  minute.  I  could  not  re 
fuse  what  seemed  so  small  a  request,  and  so^ 
making  a  new  effort  to  subdue  the  nervous  excite 
ment  from  which  I  was  suffering,  I  left  my  room 
and  descended  to  the  parlor. 

I  did  not  understand  the  quick  glance  that 
rested  upon  me  as  I  came  into  the  room.  Con 
necting  it  with  Mr.  Clyde's  warning,  the  sound  of 
which  had  not  yet  died  in  my  ears,  I  felt  it  as 
something  strange. 

"  I  am  grieved  to  hear  that  you  are  indisposed." 
His  voice  was  not  quite  clear  and  confident  as  he 
said  this,  taking  my  hand  and  drawing  rne  across 
the  room  to  a  sofa  which  stood  furthest  away 
from  the  light.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  added,  "  foi 
not  taking  your  excuse,  but  I  felt  that  I  could 
not  go  away  without  seeing  you  for  just  a  mo 
ment." 

I  did  not  say  anything  in  reply.  He  looked 
troubled,  I  thought,  or  more  like  one  in  a  state  of 
perplexed  uncertainty. 

"  Your  hand  trembles,  Edith,  and  you  are  paler 
than  usual."  His  manner  changed  to  one  of  more 
anxiety. 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  193 

"  I  do  not  feel  at  all  well  this  evening,1'  I  made 
out  to  reply,  but  in  a  voice  that  no  power  I  then 
possessed  could  steady. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  disturb  you,  I'm 
afraid.'1  His  look  of  troubled  perplexity  returned. 

I  felt  impelled  to  speak  to  him  about  Mr.  Clyde, 
and  the  words  were  on  my  lips,  when  some  thought 
or  impression  checked  the  forming  utterance,  and 
I  kept  silence.  He  saw  that  I  was  about  speaking, 
and  waited  for  a  time.  Then  expectancy  died  on 
his  face.  Our  intercourse,  during  the  short  time 
we  were  together  on  that  evening,  was  constrained, 
even  to  embarrassment.  In  all  Mr.  Congreve  said, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  feeling  into  my 
thoughts  to  find  if  something  were  not  there 
which  he  dreaded  to  discover;  and  I,  from  a  kind 
of  fatal  perverseness,  hid  what  was  there  com 
pletely  from  his  sight. 

Mr.  Congreve  stayed  for  half  an  hour,  and  then 
left  me.  His  visit  tended  in  no  way  to  lessen  the 
interior  disturbance  from  which  I  was  suffering. 
Mr.  Clyde's  last  warning  had  completely  unnerved 
me.  Was  it  any  wonder  ?  Aunt  Mary  was  satis 
fied  that  something  more  than  bodily  indisposition 
ailed  me,  and  tried  in  many  ways  to  reach  the 
true  cause.  But  with  a  persistent  reserve  that 
now  seems  unaccountable,  I  kept  the  secret  fast 
locked  in  my  own  mind. 

My  recollection  of  the  next  day — that  on  which 
9 


194  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

I  made  lip-promises  to  which  my  heart  was  false 
— is  very  indistinct ;  more  like  a  dream  than  any 
thing  else.  I  have  many  times  since  tried  to  make 
myself  believe  that  I  was  neither  morally  nor  re 
ligiously  bound  by  the  acts  of  that  time.  They 
were  not  done  with  a  clear  reason  and  free  will. 
I  was  impelled  by  a  force  too  strong  for  any  re 
sistance  that  lay  in  me. 

A  marriage  with  Mr.  Congreve  did  not  lessen 
the  repulsion  I  had  always  felt  towards  him  ;  and 
it  was  not  long  before  I  let  the  veil  drop  by  which 
I  had  endeavored  to  hide  my  real  state  of  mind. 
He  was  kind,  tender,  and  considerate  in  the  begin- 
ing  of  our  inharmonious  union  ;  but  my  perverse- 
ness,  antagonism,  capriciousness,  and  coldness,  at 
last  provoked  him  to  opposition.  The  prize  he 
had  sought  so  eagerly  as  a  golden  one,  proved  of 
little  value  in  possession.  He  had  taken  me  as  a 
blessing,  and  I  was  already  proving  a  curse. 

My  husband's  large  wealth  enabled  him  to  sur 
round  me  with  every  luxury.  We  had,  about  a 
mile  from  the  city,  one  of  the  most  elegant  resi 
dences  in  the  neighborhood.  I  saw  a  great  deal 
of  fashionable  company  at  first;  but  the  circle 
gradually  lessened,  as  my  state  of  mind,  from  its 
morbid  condition,  repelled  instead  of  attracting ; 
and,  in  less  than  a  year  after  our  marriage,  the 
festive  gaiety  that  for  a  time  went  laughing 
through  our  house,  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  Mr. 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  195 

Congreve  was  sadly  disappointed.  I  saw  this ; 
but  it  in  no  way  changed  my  deportment  towards 
him. 

On  the  birth  of  my  little  Florry,  a  new  world 
of  impressions  was  opened  in  my  mind,  and  with 
a  mother's  love  came  the  mother's  joy.  I  began 
from  that  time  to  feel  differently  towards  my  hus 
band;  to  find  repulsion  diminishing.  He  was 
very  fond  of  the  babe,  and  thus  a  new  bond  of 
affection  drew  us  nearer  to  each  other.  But  for 
one  thing,  I  believe  this  period  of  my  life  might 
have  been  negatively  happy,  if  I  may  use  such  a 
forced  term.  Among  our  occasional  visitors,  was 
the  Mr.  Clyde,  of  whom  I  have  spoken.  To  my 
husband,  I  could  see  that  he  was  a  most  unwel 
come  visitor ;  and  yet  he  was  studiously  attentive 
to  him,  and  exceedingly  guarded  in  the  conceal 
ment  of  a  dislike  that  I  knew  existed.  What 
could  this  mean  ?  Why  had  Mr.  Clyde  warned 
me,  with  solemn  repetitions,  not  to  consummate  a 
marriage  with  Mr.  Congreve  ?  There  lay  in  his 
warning,  I  felt  sure,  a  reason  that  would  have 
rendered  our  marriage  impossible,  had  I  known 
it.  The  thought  troubled  me  more  and  more,  the 
oftener  it  was  suggested. 

I  did  not  see  in  any  deportment  of  Mr.  Clyde 
towards  myself,  the  smallest  sign  of  reference  to 
the  warnings  he  had  given.  He  rather  kept  at  a 
distance  from  me ;  but  was  easy  and  polite  when 


196  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

we  were  thrown  together.  He  did  not  come  very 
often ;  perhaps  not  more  frequently  than  once  in 
three  or  four  weeks;  and  then  he  always  appear 
ed  to  have  some  business  with  my  husband,  who 
never  seemed  just  like  himself  for  two  or  three 
days  afterwards. 

What  was  the  secret  of  his  power  over  my  hus 
band  ?  I  could  not  push  the  question  from  my 
mind.  There  could  be  no  orderly  point  of  con 
tact  between  them,  I  felt  well  assured.  It  was 
something  of  evil,  not  good,  that  held  them  in  so 
cial  contact.  My  thought  brooded  on  the  subject, 
and  rny  peace  was  disturbed  thereby. 

One  day  Mr.  Congreve  was  reading  to  me,  as 
I  sat  with  my  baby  asleep  on  my  lap — she  was 
nearly  a  year  old — when  our  waiter  came  to  the 
door,  and  said : 

"  A  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Congreve. 

"  Mr.  Clyde,  sir,"  answered  the  waiter. 

I  saw  his  countenance  change  instantly. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  so  different 
from  that  in  which  he  had  been  reading,  that  it 
sounded  almost  strange. 

"  I  wish  the  man  were  in  hell !  "  he  exclaimed, 
as  the  servant  withdrew,  showing  a  degree  of 
passion  that  I  had  never  before  witnessed  in  him. 
His  face  had  grown  suddenly  dark,  and  I  felt, 
from  its  expression,  that  he  hated  this  man  in  his 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  197 

very  heart.  The  look  made  me  shudder.  There 
was  murder  in  it. 

In  half  an  hour,  Mr.  Congreve  returned  to  thu 
room  where  he  had  left  me.  I  saw  a  great  change 
in  him. 

"I  am  going  to  the  city,  Edith,"  he  said, 
abruptly. 

"  Not  with  Mr.  Clyde  ?  "  There  was  so  much 
of  surprise  in  my  voice  that  he  seemed  struck  by 
it,  and  said,  in  a  quick,  sharp  way — 

"  Why  not  with  him?  "  His  eyes  were  on  my 
face  reading  it  closely.  There  was  suspicion  in 
them. 

"  You  don't  like  him,"  I  answered. 

"For  all  that  I  am  going  with  him.  He  has 
come  the  bearer  of  unpleasant  intelligence — in  a 
business  way — and  I  must  go  to  the  city  immedi 
ately." 

The  tone  in  which  he  interpolated  the  words, 
"  in  a  business  way,"  caused  me  to  doubt  the  rea 
son  they  were  meant  to  give.  He  did  not  linger 
in  my  presence,  but  went  to  his  room  and  made 
a  hurried  toilet.  Without  seeing  me  again,  he 
left  the  house  and  drove  away  with  Mr.  Clyde. 

I  puzzled  myself  in  conjecture  as  to  the  real 
cause  of  Mr.  Congreve's  visit  to  the  city,  but  puz 
zled,  of  course,  in  vain.  He  had  given  me  nc 
leading  intimations,  and  I  was,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  all  in  the  dark. 


198  OUR  NEIGHBORS   IX 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

R.  CONGREVE  had  been  gone, 
maybe  an  hour,  when  I  saw 
my  father's  carriage  enter  the 
grounds,  and  drive  up  the 
smoothly-beaten  road.  As  it 
drew  near,  I  noticed  that  it  contained 
no  one  but  his  office-boy.  He  brought 
me  a  hastily  written  note  from  Aunt 
Mary,  saying  that  my  father  had  been 
taken  ill,  and  she  wished  me  to  come 
without  delay.  Edward,  the  boy,  could  give  no 
satisfactory  answers  to  my  questions.  My  father 
had  been  sick  since  yesterday  and  was  worse  to 
day.  He  did  not  know,  however,  the  cause  or 
nature  of  his  sickness,  and  seemed  to  me  singularly 
in  the  dark.  I  was  ready  to  accompany  him  in 
ten  minutes  after  his  arrival.  My  baby  and  nurse 
went  with  me. 

I  found  my  father  in  a  raging  fever,  and  deliri 
ous.  From  Aunt  Mary's  account  he  had  been  as 
well  as  usual  on  the  morning  of  the  previous  day, 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  199 

and  she  saw  no  change  in  him  at  dinner-time.  In 
the  evening  he  returned  later  than  usual,  but  in 
stead  of  going  into  the  office,  went  to  his  room. 
He  did  not  come  down  when  the  tea-bell  rang,  and 
as  it  was  an  unusual  circumstance,  Aunt  Mary 
went  up  stairs  and  knocked  at  his  door.  He  did 
not  answer  at  first,  but  on  her  knocking  a  second 
time,  he  said  that  he  didn't  feel  very  well,  and 
would  not  be  down  to  tea.  She  felt  a  little  un 
easy,  and  as  he  did  not  make  his  appearance  after 
the  lapse  of  nearly  an  hour,  went  again  to  his 
room  and  spoke  to  him.  He  replied  as  before, 
that  he  was  not  very  well.  His  voice  did  not 
sound  right  to  her  ears.  She  asked  if  he  would 
have  anything,  but  he  said  no.  He  remained  in 
his  room  all  the  evening,  declining  to  see  several 
office  patients  who  called  for  medicines  or  consul 
tation.  At  ten  o'clock  Aunt  Mary  visited  him 
again.  He  had  gone  to  bed,  and  replied  to  her 
questions  as  to  how  he  felt,  that  he  had  some  head 
ache,  but  would  be  well  after  a  night's  sleep. 

In  the  morning  he  had  not  made  his  appearance 
at  breakfast-time,  and  on  going  to  his  room,  Aunt 
Mary  found  him  in  considerable  fever,  and  unable 
to  rise.  His  mind  seemed  to  be  in  a  dull,  con 
fused  state,  as  if  there  were  pressure  on  the  brain. 
A  physician  was  called  in,  who  bled  him  immedi 
ately,  and  with  some  apparent  relief.  But  the 
fever  had  continued  ,to  increase,  until  it  was  vio- 


200  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

lent  as  when  I  saw  him.  He  knew  me  on  enter 
ing  his  room  and  coming  to  the  bedside,  but  my 
presence  gave  him  evident  pain,  and  excited  him 
in  a  way  that  had  in  it,  to  me,  something  fearful. 
He  put  up  his  hands  instantly,  as  if  to  push  me 
away,  then  covered  his  face  and  groaned  like  one 
in  anguish  of  soul.  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  fore 
head  and  kissed  him.  But  at  the  touch  of  my  lips 
he  shuddered,  and  said  strange  words,  the  mean 
ing  of  which  I  could  not  understand.  As  my 
presence  continued  to  disturb  him,  I  went  from 
the  room  at  Aunt  Mary's  whispered  suggestion. 
The  sound  of  the  closing  door  caused  him  to  un 
cover  his  face,  and  he  looked  all  around  the  apart 
ment,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  that  I  had  with 
drawn. 

"  Has  she  gone?  "  he  asked  in  a  whisper. 

Aunt  Mary  said  "  Yes." 

"  Don't  let  her  come  in  here  again,  will  you  ?  " 
he  said.  "  I  can't  look  at  her.  Poor  child!  poor 
child!  it  will  kill  her!" 

"  What  will  kill  her  ?  "  inquired  Aunt  Mary; 
alarmed  by  this  strange  language. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  He  looked  half-wonder- 
ingly  at  her. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh !  I  thought  everybody  knew  it.  It's  town 
talk  by  this  time." 

"  Knew  what,  Doctor  ?  " 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  201 

"  Is  he  dead  yet  ?  "  My  father  spoke  in  a  whis 
per. 

"Who?" 

"  Mr.  Carson.     Have  you  heard  ?  " 

But  Aunt  Mary  knew  no  one  by  that  name. 
He  looked  at  her  in  a  strange,  mournful  way,  then 
shut  his  eyes,  and  lay  quietly  for  a  long  time. 
When  I  again  ventured  into  the  room,  and  he  be 
came  aware  of  my  presence,  he  grew  excited  as 
before,  and  resolutely  hid  his  face  from  me.  All 
this  was  dreadful!  What  could  it  mean  ? 

k' Wonat  you  take  her  away?"  I  heard  him 
whisper  to  Aunt  Mary,  who  led  me  from  the  room 
again.  When  I  ventured  in  once  more,  after  half 
an  hour  had  gone  by,  I  found  him  in  a  heavy 
stupor,  with  his  face  so  dark  that  it  was  almost 
purple.  His  appearance  alarmed  me  greatly. 
The  physician  in  attendance  called  again  at  this 
time.  I  saw  by  his  countenance,  the  moment  his 
eyes  rested  on  my  father,  that  his  symptoms  had 
changed  for  the  worse.  He  said  something  in  a 
low  tone  to  Aunt  Mary,  who  went  from  the  room 
and  called  Edward.  In  a  few  moments  I  heard 
the  boy's  rapid  feet  going  down  the  path  to  the 
garden  gate.  He  had  gone  for  a  consulting  physi 
cian.  But  it  was  too  late.  When  he  arrived,  my 
father's  condition  was  hopeless.  He  died  that 
n'"ght ;  the  physicians  said  from  apoplexy. 

I  had  left  word  for  Mr.  Corigreve  to  come  for 
9* 


202  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

me,  on  his  arrival  at  home,  and  I  was  surprised, 
and  a  little  troubled,  that  he  did  not  make  his 
appearance  during  the  evening.  In  the  morning, 
I  looked  for  him  early,  but  he  did  not  arrive  until 
long  past  noon.  An  exclamation  of  surprise  fell 
from  my  lips  on  seeing  him,  he  was  so  changed. 

"  Are  you  sick  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  said  "  Yes,"  in  a  strange,  evasive  way,  his 
eyes  glancing  past  mine,  instead  of  into  them. 

"  This  is  very  dreadful,  Edith,"  he  added,  be 
fore  I  could  make  inquiry  as  to  what  ailed 
him. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  last  night?"  I  in 
quired.  "  I  looked  for  you  every  moment." 

He  answered  that  it  was  after  dark  when  he 
got  home,  and  he  felt  too  unwell  to  ride  back  to 
the  city.  I  was  not  satisfied  at  his  late  appearance 
that  day.  He  had  been  too  sick,  he  said,  to  leave 
home  earlier.  But  I  afterwards  learned,  inciden 
tally,  from  a  servant,  that  he  had  not  been  home 
all  night,  nor  until  past  meridian  of  the  day  suc 
ceeding  that  on  which  my  father  died. 

I  was  a  great  deal  shattered  by  this  sudden 
death  of  my  father,  around  which,  to  me,  there 
dwelt  a  dark  mystery.  There  was,  I  felt,  some 
thing  more  than  apoplexy,  as  a  simple  disease,  in 
volved.  Antecedent  to  the  physical  disease  was 
some  fearfully  exciting  mental  cause.  What  was 
it  ?  How  was  it  connected  with  me  ?  Over  these 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  203 

questions,  in  the  darkness  that  followed,  I  brooded 
like  some  night-bird. 

After  mj  father's  death,  Aunt  Mary  came  to 
live  with  me.  Mr.  Congreve  was  a  different  man 
from  what  he  had  been.  In  all  my  strange  moods 
and  capriciousness,  he  had,  for  the  most  part, 
treated  me  with  a  kindness  that  ever  sought  to 
win  the  love  he  must  have  been  too  conscious  of 
not  possessing.  But  now,  I  saw  indifference  arid 
coldness  creeping  over  him,  yet  without  concern. 
I  had  never  loved  him.  Not  once,  from  our  mar 
riage-day  till  now,  had  my  heart  beat  a  single 
true  throb  for  him  ;  and  I  felt  that  estrangement 
on  his  part  would  be  sweeter  to  me  than  loving 
attentions.  He  had  committed  a  great  error  in 
constraining  me  into  a  marriage  that  he  knew  was 
in  opposition  to  my  feelings ;  and  the  fruit  of  that 
error  had  been  bitter  to  his  taste  from  the  begin 
ning.  It  was  yet  to  become  as  gall  and  worm 
wood! 

I  saw  nothing  more  of  Mr.  Clyde.  If  he  still 
continued  to  annoy  Mr.  Congreve — and  it  was 
plain  that  he  had  active  sources  of  annoyance — 
he  did  so  by  letter,  or  personally  in  the  city, 
whither  Mr.  Congreve  went  every  day. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  about  this  time, 
"that  things  are  getting  wrong  with  Mr.  Con 
greve.  Has  he  said  anything  to  you  about  remov 
ing  from  here  ?  " 


204  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

I  replied  that  he  had  not. 

"  He  more  than  hinted  as  much  to  me,  yester 
day,"  continued  Aunt  Mary. 

I  was  in  no  way  disturbed  by  the  suggestion. 
In  fact,  I  had  grown  weary  of  the  life  I  was  lead 
ing,  and  felt  a  restless  desire  for  change.  I  had, 
long  ago,  ceased  to  find  any  pleasure  in  the  ex 
ternal  of  things  around  me ;  and  in  new  conditions, 
no  matter  what,  there  was  a  suggestion  of  relief 
from  a  dull  monotony  that  was  eating  into  my 
very  soul,  and  destroying  the  little  vitality  that 
remained.  I  was  nut,  therefore,  in  the  least  dis 
turbed,  when  Mr.  Congreve  said  to  me  a  few  days 
afterwards : 

"  Edith,  circumstances  have  occurred  that  will 
make  it  necessary  for  us  to  remove  from  here.  I 
am  sorry  to  have  you  disturbed  in  your  pleasant 
home ;  but  necessity  knows  no  law." 

I  saw  that  he  was  surprised,  as  well  as  greatly 
relieved,  that  I  made  no  objection. 

"Do  we  go  to  the  city  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  he  replied. 

"  Where?"!  queried. 

"  East,  probably." 

This  surprised  me. 

"  To  the  East !  "  I  said.     "  Why  to  the  East?  " 

"  Business  will  require  me  to  go  there." 

"Soon?" 

"  Immediately."      His  manner  was  disturbed, 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  205 

and  he  did  not,  while  talking  with  me,  look,  ex 
cept  for  a  moment  at  a  time,  steadily  into  my 
face. 

"  Where  do  you  think  of  going  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  To  New  York,  in  all  probability ;  but  I  can 
not  as  yet  determine.  I  have  found  a  gentleman 
who  would  like  to  purchase  this  property.  He 
will  take  everything — furniture  and  all,  as  it 
stands;  and  that  will  save  us  the  unpleasant  no 
toriety  of  a  sale  and  break-up.  We  can  pass 
away  as  quietly  as  though  going  upon  a  summer 
tour.  You  will  like  that  best,  I  know." 

No  arrangement  could  have  been  more  agree 
able.  On  the  next  day,  Mr.  Congreve  brought  out 
a  man  who  looked  through  the  house  and  over  the 
grounds.  I  was  informed,  after  he  went  away, 
that  he  had  agreed  to  purchase. 

"  How  soon  can  you  get  ready  to  start  for  the 
East  ?  "  was  Mr.  Congreve's  inquiry,  on  the  even 
ing  of  that  very  day. 

I  said  in  a  month ;  Aunt  Mary  mentioned  two 
or  three  weeks;  but  Mr.  Congreve  said  — 

"  You  must  be  ready  to  start  in  a  week  from 
to-day." 

"  That  is  simply  impossible,"  I  replied. 

"  What  is  to  hinder?"  he  asked,  showing  con 
siderable  impatience. 

"I  have  no  travelling  dresses,"  was  my  an 
swer. 


206  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

"Buy  them  to-morrow,  and  have  them  made 
up.  A  week  is  long  enough  to  get  an.  outfit  for 
travelling  the  world  over." 

I  objected,  but  Aunt  Mary  came  in,  as  usual 
when  a  difference  occurred,  and  told  Mr.  Con- 
greve  that  if  it  was  of  importance  to  get  away  at 
the  time  stated,  she  would  undertake  to  have 
everything  ready. 

"  It  is  of  the  first  importance,"  he  replied. 

The  week  that  followed  1  passed  in  a  whirl  of 
busy  preparation  for  our  hurried  flight.  I  often 
questioned  with  myself  as  to  its  meaning.  It  was 
plain  enough,  from  Mr.  Congreve's  manner,  that 
something  of  a  serious  nature  had  occurred.  He 
was  never  still,  it  seemed,  for  a  moment,  when  at 
home,  but  went  restlessly  about  the  house,  or 
over  the  grounds,  often  in  an  absent  way,  that 
showed  a  mind  in  troubled  abstraction.  He  slept 
but  little  through  the  night,  frequently  leaving  his 
bed  and  walking  the  floor.  Every  day  he  went 
to  the  city,  from  which  he  rarely  returned  until 
late  in  the  afternoon. 

The  morning  of  the  day  fixed  for  our  departure 
had  come.  Trunks  were  packed,  and  nearly  every 
thing  in  the  way  of  preparation  completed.  The 
house  was  to  be  left  in  the  care  of  servants,  who, 
on  our  retiring,  became,  according  to  arrangement, 
responsible  to  the  family  by  which  we  were  to  be 
succeeded. 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  207 

We  had  left  the  breakfast-table — Mr.  Congreve, 
Aunt  Mary,  and  I — and  were  sitting  in  one  of  the 
smaller  parlors  that  looked  out  upon  a  lawn  and 
garden,  talking  over  some  last  matters,  when  a 
man  stood  suddenly  at  one  of  the  French  win 
dows,  and  pushing  it  open,  stepped  into  the 
room. 

I  gave  a  short,  low  cry,  as  I  recognised  Edgar 
Holrnan ;  changed,  oh,  how  sadly  changed !  but 
with  a  face  as  familiar  as  though  I  had  looked 
upon  it  only  a  day  gone  by.  He  came  a  few. 
paces  into  the  room  and  then  stood  still.  His  air 
was  that  of  a  man  trembling  in  some  eager  im 
pulse,  yet  irresolute  as  to  action.  Mr.  Congreve 
was  sitting  in  a  position  that  enabled  me  to  see 
his  face,  when  he  saw  and  recognised  Edgar.  He 
grew  deathly  pale,  but  did  not  stir.  His  lips  fell 
apart,  and  his  eyes  stood  out  like  one  transfixed 
in  sudden  terror.  I  could  neither  move  nor 
speak. 

The  first  moments  of  surprise  over,  Mr.  Con 
greve  started  up  and  exclaimed  : 

"  How  dare  you  come  here,  sir?  "  His  face  was 
still  white.  I  saw  him  thrust  his  hand  into  his 
bosom  as  if  searching  for  a  weapon ;  but  happily 
none  was  there. 

"  I  can  dare  anything  for  justice  and  retribu 
tion!"  he  was  answered,  and  in  a  voice  so  calm 
and  stern,  that  it  seemed  to  push  Mr.  Congreve 


208  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IX 

from  his  feet,  for  he  sat  down   again  in  a  weak, 
nerveless  kind  of  way. 

"  And  that  time  has  now  come,"  added  Mr. 
Hoi  man,  as  he  took  a  chair,  in  a  deliberate  way, 
that  stood  right  in  front  of  us. 

"  I  am  at  liberty  again,  you  see,  Mr.  Congreve," 
he  went  on  ;  "  and  not  only  at  liberty,  but  with 
all  the  proofs  in  hand  to  establish  my  innocence 
and  your  guilt.  Did  it  never  occur  to  you,  sir, 
that  there  was  a  God  in  heaven  ?  I  fear  not,  or 
.you  would  have  hesitated." 

Mr.  Congreve  was  on  his  feet  once  more.  But 
Mr.  Hoi  man  fixed  his  eyes  on  him,  and  held  him 
as  still  by  his  gaze,  as  an  animal  is  sometimes 
held. 

"  Sit  down  again,  sir."  The  tones  in  which 
this  was  said  were  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  but 
they  were  like  the  pressure  of  a  giant's  hand  on 
Mr.  Congreve. 

"  You  wrought  hard  to  prevent  my  pardon  by 
the  Governor,  and  I  do  not  wonder.  But  the 
proofs  of  innocence  were  too  strong,  and  here  I 
am !  Why,  it  is  not  needful  I  should  say.  You 
know  full  well.  Frederick  Carson  did  not  die 
without  making  a  sign,  for  all  your  efforts  to  the 
contrary.  He  could  not  venture  into  the  next 
world  with  the  guilt  of  perjury,  unconfessed,  upon 
his  soul,  though  you  would  have  sent  him,  with 
out  a  throb  of  pity,  to  eternal  ruin,  in  order  that 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  209 

your  work  might  be  covered  from  human  sight. 
But  that  was  not  to  be !  He  died — and  his  testi 
mony  remains.  John  Clyde — Yes,  sir,  you  may 
well  start  at  the  name !  Accomplices  in  crime 
are  rarely  disinterested  parties.  You  should  have 
remembered  that  evil  tools  are  sharp,  and  may  cut 
both  ways.  John  Clyde  is  revengeful  as  well  as 
venal.  He  had  you  completely  in  his  power,  and 
the  temptation  to  exercise  that  power  on  one 
whom  he  had  reason  to  hate,  was  too  strong  to  be 
resisted.  They  say*  that  revenge  is  sweet  to  the 
wicked,  and  he  is  tasting  this  wild  honey. 

"  But  I  must  be  explicit,  for  I  speak  to  other 
ears.  There  was  a  maiden's  heart  all  my  own — 
pure,  true,  and  sweet  as  spring's  first  blossoms. 
You  could  not  rob  me  of  the  heart:  it  turned 
from  you  with  instinctive  loathing,  as  an  angel 
turns  from  a  demon.  And  so  you  plotted  to 
destroy  me.  A  corrupt  young  man,  a  fellow- 
clerk  of  mine,  was  bought  with  your  money — I 
use  plain  speech — and  induced  to  personate  me 
in  a  forgery.  John  Clyde  accomplished  his  work 
most  skilfully,  and  then  perjured  himself  to  make 
my  ruin  complete.  Poor  Carson,  more  weak  than 
wicked,  was  bribed  heavily  to  swear  that  I  bought 
a  watch  at  a  store  where  he  was  salesman ;  and 
he  even  produced  similar  bank  bills  to  those  paid 
by  the  teller  on  the  forged  check,  and  afterwards 
found  on  my  person,  in  evidence  of  my  guilt 


210  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

The  web  of  circumstances  woven  by  you  and 
Clyde  so  skilfully,  it  was  not  in  my  power  to  un 
ravel.  But  I  never  wholly  despaired.  I  did  not 
lose  all  faith  in  God  and  justice,  dark  as  was  the 
night  in  which  I  had  to  sit  down,  and  long  as  it 
continued  before  there  came  even  a  dim  precursor 
of  morning. 

"It  has  broken  at  last.  But  what  wrecks  do 
I  see  as  tokens  of  the  storm  raised  by  your  infer 
nal  incantations!  Poor,  miserable  Carson,  re 
pentant  but  cowardly,  gave  out  just  enough  of  the 
truth  to  make  an  application  to  the  Governor  for 
a  pardon  successful.  You  discovered  what  was  in 
progress,  and  tried  hard  to  obstruct  a  movement 
that  was  setting  in  the  right  direction — but  tried 
in  vain.  The  terrors  of  fast-coming  death  were 
more  potent  than  any  influence  you  possessed — I 
am  well  posted,  you  see,  sir — and  the  dying  man 
made  a  full  confession.  How  fatal  did  it  prove  to 

one,  at  least !  He  made  it  to  Dr. ,  and  the 

horror  of  mind  occasioned  thereby,  led  to  brain 
fever,  apoplexy,  and  death.  I  don't  wonder  at 
your  quivering  nerves  and  ghastly  paleness. 
Your  enemy  has  found  you  out,  and  he  will  not 
spare." 

I  don't  know  how  it  was  that  I  was  able  to  sit 
calmly  and  hear  all  this.  But  while  my  ears 
drank  in  every  word  and  believed  it,  my  heart 
kept  its  even  beat.  He  went  on. 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  211 

"  I  am  here  now  to  claim  her  who  should  have 
been  my  lawful  wife.  To  take  her  from  the 
prison  of  your  arms.  To  bear  her  away  from  one 
who  has  cursed  her  life.  Edith  !  " 

He  uttered  my  name  in  a  kind  of  suppressed 
cry,  rising  and  holding  out  his  arms.  I  did  not 
think,  nor  pause,  but  sprang  into  them,  and  felt 
myself  clutched  to  his  breast  1 


212  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

KNEW  nothing  of  what  immedi 
ately   followed.      When   thought 
took  up  the  thread  of  conscious 
ness   again,    I    was  in  a  strange 
room,  lying  upon  a  bed.     I  be 
lieved  myself  alone,  at  first,  but  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  chamber,  soon  saw  Aunt 
Mary   sitting    by    a   table    engaged    in 
writing.     I  observed  her  for  some   mi 
nutes  in  silence,  and  then  made  a  slight 
noise  to  attract  attention.     She  left  the  table  at 
once  and  came  to  the  bedside. 

"  Can  I  get  anything  for  you  ?  "  she  asked.  I 
did  not  observe  any  surprise  in  her'manner  at  see 
ing  me  awake.  The  impression  on  my  mind  was 
that  of  a  person  just  aroused  from  sleep. 

"  Nothing,"  I  answered.  I  now  saw  that  she 
began  to  look  at  me  a  little  more  curiously. 

Again  I  surveyed  the  room,  trying  to  make  out 
some  familiar  article,  but  was  unsuccessful. 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  213 

"  Where  am  I,  Aunt  Mary  ?  "  I  arose  and  leaned 
on  my  arm. 

She  put  her  hand  on  me  quickly,  and  showed 
some  excitement  of  manner. 

"  Lie  down,  dear.  You  have  been  ill,  and  are 
very  weak." 

It  needed  not  her  words  to  signify  that  I  was 
but  a  child  in  strength,  for  the  slight  effort  of 
rising  up  caused  a  faintness  to  come  over  me 
and  I  sank  back  on  the  pillow.  After  lying, 
with  closed  eyes,  for  a  few  moments,  still 
retaining  clear  consciousness,  I  repeated  my 
question : 

"  Where  am  I,  Aunt  Mary  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  press  that  question  now,  dear. 
When  you  are  stronger,  T  will  answer." 

I  was  not,  of  course,  satisfied  with  this  reply. 
But  I  felt  too  weak  to  p*ess  the  matter;  and  clos 
ing  my  eyes  again,  tried  to  think  back  to  the  last 
incidents  that  were  impressed  on  my  memory.  It 
was  not  long  before  that  never-to-be-forgotten 
appearance  of  Edgar  Holman  was  recalled  in  all 
its  startling  particulars.  His  arraignment  of  my 
husband,  and  distinct  recitation  of  circumstances 
by  which  his  own  innocence  was  attested,  and  the 
guilty  complicity  of  my  husband  affirmed,  were 
all  before  me.  I  remembered  every  emphatic  word, 
and  the  effect  also.  In  my  mind  Edgar  stood  fully 
justified;  and  in  these  first  minutes  of  returning 


214  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

consciousness,  I  lifted  my  heart  and  thanked  God 
that  it  was  so. 

"  We  are  not  in  M ?  "  said  I. 

My  voice  was  calmer  than  my  feelings. 

"  No,  dear ;  but  you  must  not  talk  now."  Aunt 
Mary  laid  her  fingers  on  my  lips ;  but  I  pressed 
them  gently  aside,  and  put  the  question : 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Congreve  ?  " 

"  Here,"  was  answered. 

"And  Edgar?" 

"I  do  not  know,  Edith."  Her  countenance 
began  to  grow  anxious  and  troubled. 

"  What  happened,  Aunt  Mary,  after — after — ?  " 
I  could  not  say  what  was  in  my  thoughts,  but  she 
understood  me. 

"  You  must  wait  until  another  time — until  you 
are  stronger,  Edith." 

I  still  questioned,  but  she  would  not  answer 
explicitly.  While  we  yet  talked,  the  door  opened, 
and  Mr.  Congreve  came  in.  I  gave  a  short  cry  of 
repulsion,  and  covered  my  face  with  the  bed 
clothes.  The  very  sight  of  him  filled  me  with 
fear  and  hatred.  He  came  to  the  bedside,  and 
after  saying  a  few  words  that  I  did  not  hear  to 
Aunt  Mary,  went  out. 

"  Has  he  gone?  "  I  asked,  uncovering  my  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"  Don't  let  him  come  in  here  again,  I  can't  bear 
it."  My  manner  was  disturbed. 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  215 

Aunt  Mary  only  sighed.     I  continued : 
"  Tell  him,  will  you,  that  I  hate  him." 
She   laid   her   fingers   over  my  mouth,  but   I 
pushed  them  off.     I  was  growing  more  and  more 
excited  every  instant. 

"  I  hate  and  loathe  him !  "  I  flung  out  the 
words  with  all  the  emphasis  my  weak  state  per 
mitted.  "  He  is  not  my  husband  ;  but  a  fiend 
who  thrust  himself  in  between  me  and  the  man 
to  whom  my  heart  was,  is,  and  will  be  for  ever 
married." 

I  had  risen  up,  in  the  wild  passion  of  the  mo 
ment  ;  but  the  strong  fire  burnt  itself  out  quickly, 
like  flame  in  a  gauzy  scarf,  and  I  fell  back  again 
into  unconsciousness. 

I  did  not  ask,  when  thought  and  feeling  return 
ed,  how  long  I  had  remained  in  happy  oblivion. 
I  was  in  the  same  apartment,  with  Aunt  Mary. 
Florry  sat  on  the  floor,  playing  with  some  toys, 
and  singing  to  herself  in  a  sweet,  low  voice,  that 
came  pleasantly  to  my  ears.  She  looked  strangely 
matured  ;  and  I  could  hardly  credit  my  eyes,  when 
she  got  up  from  the  floor,  and  walking  firmly  across 
the  room  to  Aunt  Mary,  asked  her  a  question  in 
a  voice  that  articulated  each  word  distinctly.  At 
this  moment,  the  door  was  quietly  opened,  and 
before  I  saw  who  had  come  in,  Florry  clapped  her 
little  hands  and  uttered  the  word  "  Papa  !  "  Mr. 
Congreve  then  stepped  into  full  view.  It  seemed 


216  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

as  if  a  horrid  demon  had  come  into  my  presence ; 
and  as  he  reached  out  his  hand  to  take  my  child  I 
gave  a  shriek  of  involuntary  terror.  Mr.  Con- 
greve  started,  and  putting  Florry  down  hastily, 
came  towards  the  bed ;  but  I  lifted  my  hands  and. 
cried  out — "  Keep  off?  Don't  touch  me !  "  in 
such  a  mad  way,  that  he  stopped  at  some  paces 
distant,  turned  about,  and  left  the  room. 

I  was  trembling  all  over  when  Aunt  Mary 
reached  me.  She  drew  her  arm  around  my  neck, 
and  bent  over  me  with  a  hand  on  my  cheek, 
which  she  moved  in  the  caressing  way  that  a 
grieving  child  is  sometimes  quieted.  Florry,  who 
had  been  frightened  by  my  sudden  scream,  now 
came  clambering  on  to  the  bed,  and  nestling  close 
against  me.  How  her  little  hands,  as  they  touched 
my  neck  and  bosom,  sent  electric  thrills  to  my 
heart ! 

"Is  this  Florry?"  I  said,  as  her  lips  came 
sealing  themselves  upon  mine,  and  her  golden 
curls  covered  my  face. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I'm  your  Florry !  " 

What  did  all  this  mean  ?  I  thought,  for  I  had 
never  heard  that  voice,  in  clearly  spoken  words, 
before  ;  I  could  not  make  it  out. 

Exhausted  by  the  wild  passion  into  which  I 
had  been  thrown,  I  found  myself  so  weak  that  I 
could  only  lie  still,  with  shut  eyes,  and  think 
feebly.  Florry's  head  was  close  beside  mine  on 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  217 

the  same  pillow,  and  her  hands  in  ray  bosom. 
Aunt  Mary  tried  to  remove  her,  but  I  drew  my 
arm  and  held,  her  to  her  place. 

As  I  lay  there,  all  the  desolate  heart-aching 
past  came  out  of  the  darkness,  and  spread  itself 
before  me,  even  to  that  maddening  revelation 
which  fell  from  the  lips  of  Edgar  Holman.  From 
that  period,  though  many  months  had  passed,  all 
was  a  blank. 

I  did  not,  then,  say  anything  to  Aunt  Mary, 
though  a  few  questions  were  revolving  in  my 
thoughts  and  restless  for  solution.  I  resolved  to 
wait  for  a  little  while — to  try  and  be  calm,  until 
more  strength  was  received.  I  kept  this  resolu 
tion  for  an  hour,  perhaps,  when  I  could  no  longer 
repress  a  single  query. 

"You  must  give  me  a  direct  answer  to  one 
question,"  I  said. 

"  What  is  it?  "  Aunt  Mary  raised  a  finger  to 
her  lips  as  she  spoke. 

"Has  any  harm  come  to  Edgar?  " 

The  answer  was  unequivocal — "  No." 

That  was  a  great  relief.  I  closed  my  eyes  and 
lay  for  some  minutes. 

"  Where  is  he?  "  was  my  next  inquiry. 

"I  do  not  know." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  since  that  day  ?  " 

"No." 

"Nor  heard  of  him?" 
10 


218  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

She  put  her  finger  on  my  lips  and  said : 

"'You  asked  for  one  direct  answer,  and  I  have 
given  you  three.  I  must  keep  you  to  your  own 
stipulation ;  or  rather,  from  exceeding  it  any  fur 
ther." 

I  shut  my  eyes  again  with  a  sense  of  relief.  No 
harm  had  come  to  Edgar.  "  Thank  God  !  "  I  said 
in  my  heart,  fervently.  There  was  hope  in  the 
world  yet ;  I  would  live  for  him. 

"  Aunt  Mary,  one  thing  more." 

She  shook  her  head.  > 

"  If  you  desire  for  me  life  and  reason  keep  that 
man  away  from  my  presence.  The  sight  of  him 
fills  me  with  anguish  and  hatred.  If  I  had  the 
strength  I  would  flee  from  him  to  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth." 

Aunt  'Mary  regarded  me  with  a  sad  counte 
nance,  but  made  no  reply.  She  left  me  alone 
with  Florry,  a  little  while  afterwards,  and  remain 
ed  away  from  the  room  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  I  heard,  now  and  then,  the  murmur  of 
voices  in  a  distant  room,  and  guessed  that  Aunt 
Mary  was  using  her  influence  with  Mr.  Congreve 
to  keep  him,  at  least  for  a  time,  away  from  my 
presence.  She  was  successful.  I  did  not  see  him 
again  while  I  remained  in  that  room. 

Gradually,  strength  began  to  return.  In  a 
week,  I  was  able  to  sit  up  in  a  chair  for  half  an 
hour  at  a  time,  once  or  twice  during  the  day. 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  219 

Then  I  was  able  to  get  to  the  window  and  look 
out — a  thing  I  had  greatly  desired.  Aunt  Mary 
had  informed  me  that  we  were  in  Pittsburgh, 
whither  we  had  come  on  our  way  eastward.  I 
had  no  recollection  of  the  journey. 

In  three  or  four  weeks  I  was  strong  enough  to 
ride  out.  I  felt  desirous  to  recover  my  strength, 
and  willingly  accepted  the  means  that  were  offer 
ed.  There  was  a  new  and  precious  hope  in  my 
heart — it  is  there  still,  an  undying  thing — the 
hope  of  meeting  Edgar ;  of  meeting  him  and  be 
ing  united.  For  this,  I  consented  to  live.  With 
out  it,  I  would  have  died  long  ago. 

"  I  think,"  said  Aunt  Mary  one  day,  "  that  you 
are  now  well  enough  to  resume  the  journey  your 
illness  required  me  to  suspend." 

I  made  no  objection.  The  only  concern  I  had 
was  the  fear  of  meeting  Mr.  Congreve  during  the 
journey,  or  on  its  termination.  That  he  was  not 
far  distant  I  had  many  evidences.  I  did  not  see 
him,  however,  during  the  long  ride  to  this  city. 
The  house  at  the  corner,  to  which  we  were 
brought,  had  been  famished,  and  there  were  ser 
vants  ready  to  receive  us.  It  was,  I  understood, 
to  be  our  future  home.  A  day  or  two  passed 
without  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Congreve,  when, 
as  I  stood  at  the  windows,  looking  into  the  street, 
I  saw  a  carriage  stop  at  the  door.  He  had  ar 
rived  !  I  ran  up  stairs  to  my  room,  and  locked 


220  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

myself  in,  all  trembling  with  excitement.  After 
a  while,  Aunt  Mary  came  and  asked  to  be  admitted. 
She  brought  a  message  from  Mr.  Congreve,  who 
desired  to  see  me ;  but  I  refused  him  in  the  most 
positive  manner. 

"Remember,"  she  said,  in  her  remonstrance, 
"  that  this  is  your  husband's  house." 

"  He  is  not  my  husband  1 "  I  cried  back,  half 
madly.  "I  reject  the  relation  I  That  marriage 
was  a  fraud  I  " 

"Don't  speak  in  this  way,  my  child,"  replied 
Aunt  Mary.  "  It  is  sinful." 

"  The  sin  rests  with  him,  not  me,"  I  answered, 
resolutely. 

"  You  must  see  him,  Edith.  He  is  in  earnest, 
and  will  take  no  denial." 

"  I  will  not  see  him !"  My  heart  was  growing 
strong  within  me.  "  Tell  him  that  I  hate  him  ;  and 
that  if  he  approach  me,  I  will  flee  from  him  as 
from  my  worst  enemy." 

Aunt  Mary  might  as  well  have  talked  to  the 
wind  as  to  me. 

All  day  I  remained  in  my  room  alone  with 
Florry.  She  asked,  many  times,  that  I  would  let 
her  go  and  see  her  papa.  But  I  would  not 
consent.  Twice,  during  the  afternoon,  he  came  to 
the  door,  and  demanded  that  I  should  open  it. 
But  only  the  room's  dead  silence  echoed  his 
demands.  I  did  not  let  even  a  whisper  escape  my 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  221 

lips ;  while,  with  a  raised  finger  and  look  of 
authority,  I  kept  my  child  voiceless,  though  tears 
ran  over  her  scared  face. 

At  last,  he  made  an  attempt  to  force  the  door, 
and  succeeded.  But  as  he  entered,  I,  losing  all 
thought  but  that  of  escaping  his  detested  presence, 
caught  Florry  in  my  arms,  and  made  for  the  open 
window.  He  seized  my  garments  in  time  to  pre 
vent  me  from  throwing  myself  and  child  headlong 
to  the  pavement.  You  saw  my  little  one  in  con 
vulsions  that  evening,  and  now  know  the  cause  I 

Since  that  time  Mr.  Congreve  has  steadily  per 
sisted  in  attempts  to  bend  me  to  his  will ;  but  he 
might  as  well  attempt  to  bend  an  iron  girder. 
He  has  cursed  my  life,  and  that  of  one  who  is 
dearer  to  me  than  life.  Have  I  not  reason  to  loathe 
him,  and  to  hate  him  ?  I  have  ;  and  I  do  so  loathe 
and  hate  him,  that  his  presence  either  suffocates  or 
maddens  me. 

He  is  hiding  himself  here  at  the  East  from  the 
sure  retribution  that  is  on  his  track.  The  plea  of 
business  is  only  a  subterfuge.  Edgar,  if  living, 
will  never  give  up  the  pursuit.  How  long,  his 
coming  is  delayed  I  The  wonder  to  me  is  that 
Mr.  Congreve  has  not  already  been  arrested  for 
the  crime  that  blackens  his  soul.  I  fear  that  he 
has  compassed,  in  some  way,  the  death  of  Edgar 
Holman.  Sometimes  this  idea  gets  possession  of 
me  so  strongly  that  I  lose  myself.  I  could  not 


222  Olfll    NKI'ilfliOKH    IN 

hv,  if  I  W<T«'  <•'  rt;iin  Ui.'it,  })<•,  W'T*1.  d-'.'id.  If  I 
l<ncw  wh'-n-  h<- w:i;j.,  I  would  t'<>  to  h'un.  I  h;iv. 
Hiiid  HO  t,o  Aunt,  M;iry  over  and  ovur  iig.'im,  -'""I  I 
will  l-.'Tj»  rny  word  if  ov<:r  thut  knowlr.d;"  000161. 
Mr.  Cbfign  vo  currio  bm;k  yfHl«-,rdMy,  .'ilVr  ;i  lor, 
gi  i  ftb  •  »'•.»;  than  unuul.  f  Iwd  b»;gun  1.0  ho|,<  fchtt 
IM-,  would  rn!v«T  n;liirn.  Wli«:n  li'-  carim  und«T 
thcj  roof  Unit  cjoviwd  ni's  I  |»:iHwd  from  \>< - 
Tiuutli  ilH  Mliiiltcjr,  and  I  will  riot  go  uud«  r  it.  Igftin 
\vhilo  h«5  IH  tliuro.  Do  not  fear,  rny  kind  In-  nd, 
tliat  I  rrnmn  long  to  tn-HpaHH  on  you.  Thin 
I  }mv«!  no  right  to  do.  lint.  l<  t  rnci  liidn  inyHcU' 
ln-n;  for  u  liul«!  wlnl<1.  II  li«'  Kt,:i_yH  Ion;',  I  will 
find  another  }»l:i'-«'  «»r  r-  fuge  from  iiiH  pi-  •  ri<  c, 

And  H)  you  li:iv.  my  wn-lrli«-d  rlory  ;  :md 
I  I  BOW  (MUM  jrOtM  fiWI  i.li.'il.  il-  h.-i.-i/'/ivr.n  you,  aH  1 
tend  il,  would,  tli'  IM  . 


•Ml  1C    COftNICIt    lioi     .1 


CIIA1TKU    XXI. 


«i()    nine.h    of    l.he     iny.'il.ery    w.i 

plnined  ;     Iml.    it,    Immjdit,    UH,    iiH 

1 1-     Were?     into     I, hr    very     he;i.rl,    o|' 

an  unfinished   draiim,  or  Inij/edy 
il.    nii/dil.    prove,   with    l.he    ;icti(.n 
.".I.I  1 1     in      pro;- ir   ,:.          A  lid      if.    WflH 
impossible   I.O   hold     l.he     j.o.il.ion    of    ni'-ie 
Speet.'ilor.'.       l.o    ,",i|,    ojinel.ly    in    the    boxes 
and  look  on.       We  mu  \\,  l.;i.l.<-  our  pl;ier.t 
on    I, he.     I  i  -      ;uid    hee.onin    n.el.orM    in    nl. 

leant.  Home,  of   the    f'.e.ene,".    l,h:i.l.    Were,     l.o     follow. 

"What,  HfV.  we.  l.o  do  in  I, hi:1.  in;ill«  i  '"  My  Wile 
pill,  the,  rpiest-ion  WlfJi  n.  Hohe.r  fiie.e.  Mi  .  ('oniM'eVe 
luid  poj'.il.ively  nTu.'.ed  l.o  return  IIOIIKI  while,  her 

"  I  thinl:,"  w;i;i  my  jinnwer,  "  l.hal.  our  duty 
i'.  ;i  plain  one..  M  I'M.  (Ion  :!.ory  li;i,i  |'iven 

IIM  f;i.e|,;i  th.-il,  alter  our  relation  entirely.  ( )n 
Kdj'.'i'.-.  :i".e.olinl,  we.  have,"  R  pei.:oii;i.|  inti'i'-.l. 
in  her,  and  lor  hi,1.  Hake,  a, i  well  ;i . i  lor  humanity's 
Make,  we,  inn-it  do  ;i.ll  in  onr  powe.r  l.o  Mave  her  from 


224  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

the  mental  ruin  towards  which  she  is  now  tending. 
We  must  let  her  stay  here  as  long  as  she  will,  and 
make  her  feel  that  she  is  fully  welcome." 

"If  she  knew  our  personal  interest  in  Edgar," 
said  my  wife,  "it  would  give  us  more  influence 
with  her." 

"For  the  present,"  I  replied,  "  we  must  keep 
our  knowledge  of  him  a  secret.  She  is  the 
wedded  wife  of  Mr.  Congreve,  and,  as  such, 
cannot,  innocently — cannot,  I  mean,  if  in  a  sane 
mind — entertain  the  feelings  and  purposes  which 
she  avows  in  connexion  with  Edgar.  The  shock 
she  has  received,  and  the  extraordinary  trials 
which  she  has  endured,  have  weakened  her  mind. 
Feeling  has  been  intensified,  while  reason  and 
judgment  have  been  enfeebled.  She  must  be 
guarded  and  guided  in  the  perilous  way  her  waver 
ing  steps  are  treading,  and  to  you  and  me,  providen 
tially,  has  been  assigned  the  duty  of  helping  her 
to  walk  in  safety  along  the  Valley  and  the  Shadow 
of  Death  through  which  her  soul  is  passing/' 

"Poor  Edgar!  I  cannot  think  of  him  and  the 
past  five  or  six  years  of  his  life  without  shudder 
ing.  I  wonder  where  he  can  be,  and  why  he  has 
not  written  to  us  7  " 

"One  thought,  probably,  absorbs  him,"  I  an 
swered;  "  the  thought  of  retribution.  He  is,  I  do 
not  question,  in  the  pursuit  of  this  man,  who  has 
managed  so  far  to  elude  him." 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  225 

"  But  this  cannot  long  continue.  He  must  find 
him  out." 

"  Yes,  and  speedily.  If  alive,  he  may  appear 
on  the  stage  at  any  moment.  We  may  look  for 
him  daily." 

"  He  may  not  be  living,"  said  my  wife.  "  Do 
you  think  a  man  like  Mr.  Congreve  would  stop  at 
murder  when  so  much  was  involved?  " 

"  In  murder  all  is  jeopardized.  It  is  a  fearful 
stake,  and  the  worst  and  most  daring  may  well 
hesitate  before  casting  it  down.  I  hardly  think 
that  extremity  has  been  reached  in  this  case." 

"  Then  it  is  strange  that  Edgar  has  been  so  long 
in  discovering  their  residence  here.  They  could 
not  have  left  their  home  in  the  West  so  secretly 
that  no  one  knew  of  their  departure  or  the  direc 
tion.  It  would  seem  to  be  an  easy  thing  to  trace 
them  as  far  as  Pittsburgh,  and  thence  to  this 
city." 

"  It  is  probable,"  said  I,  "  that  Pittsburgh  was 
reached  by  a  very  indirect  way.  Mr.  Congreve 
may  have  taken  at  first,  a  different  direction,  and 
Edgar  may  now  be  hundreds  or  thousands  of  miles 
distant,  in  a  vain  pursuit.  But  no  matter  what 
the  cause  of  his  absence,  Mr.  Congreve  cannot 
escape  him  in  the  end.  This  great  sin  will  not  go 
unpunished.  I  feel  sure  of  that." 

"  What  if  Mr.  Congreve  should  come  here  and 
demand  his  wife  ?  " 

10* 


226  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

"  I  should  still  leave  her  free  to  go  or  stay," 
was  my  answer.  "  So  long  as  she  desires  an  asy 
lum  here,  she  can  have  it." 

"  Can  he  not  remove  her  by  force  ?  " 

"  No.  She  is  as  free,  personally,  in  the  eye  of 
the  law,  as  he  is." 

"  I  mean,"  said  my  wife,  "  on  the  allegation  of 
insanity." 

"  He  will  scarcely  take  that  step,"  was  my  an 
swer. 

I  was  mistaken  here.  I  was  informed  that  a 
gentleman  had  called  to  see  me.  No  name  was 
given ;  but  on  going  down  into  the  parlor,  I  re 
cognised  Mr.  Congreve.  He  mentioned  his  name, 
and  said : 

"  I  am  your  neighbor  at  the  corner." 

I  bowed,  and  requested  him  to  resume  the  seat 
from  which  he  had  risen  on  my  entrance.  He 
looked  very  serious,  and  his  manner  was  that  of  a 
man  laboring  under  considerable  mental  excite 
ment. 

"  My  wife  is  here."  He  spoke  abruptly,  and 
with  a  resoluteness  of  manner  that  I  saw  was 
meant  to  impress  me  with  the  idea  that  he  was  a 
man  not  to  be  trifled  with — at  least  not  in  the 
present  case. 

"  She  is."  I  tried  to  speak  in  a  voice  that 
would  show  firmness,  but  not  indicate  antagonism. 

"  Will  you  say  to  her  that  I  wish  to  see  her  ?  " 


THB   CORNER    HOUSE.  227 

Now  this  was  bringing  on  the  issue  at  once.  I 
knew  that  she  would  not  see  him,  and  I  knew, 
still  further,  that  to  take  this  message  would  be  to 
excite  her  mind  in  a  way  dangerous  to  its  rational 
balance.  I  could  have  gone  from  the  room  under 
pretence  of  carrying  his  request  to  Mrs.  Congreve, 
and  brought  back  to  him  words  that  she  had 
spoken  in  the  most  emphatic  way  to  my  wife,  but 
this  involved  subterfuge,  and  I  would  not  consent 
to  that. 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  that  you  had  better  not  dis 
turb  her  this  evening." 

"And  why  not,  pray?"  He  was  very  impera 
tive. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  I,  assuming  a  rather  more  de 
cided  manner,  "your  own  thoughts  will  suggest  a 
reason." 

His  brows  drew  down  suddenly,  and  his  eyes 
gave  a  quick  flash,  as  he  returned: 

"You  speak  in  a  riddle,  sir." 

"No,"  I  answered  calmly,  "not  in  a  riddle; 
but  if  obscurely  to  your  thought,  I  can  be 
more  explicit.  I  hardly  think  it  required,  how 
ever." 

I  fixed  my  eyes  so  steadily  upon  his  face,  that 
his  half-insolent  gaze  was  turned  aside. 

"  This  is  very  extraordinary  !  "  he  said.  "  I 
can't  understand  it." 

I  made  no  response  to  these  ejaculations. 


228  0[JR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  Then  you  will  not  even  say  to  my  wife  that  I 
wish  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  I  only  suggested  that  it  were  better  not  to 
disturb  her,"  said  I.  "  If  you  insist  on  having 
your  desire  communicated,  I  cannot,  of  course, 
refuse." 

"  Then  I  do  insist  upon  it." 

I  left  the  room  and  saw  my  wife.  After  a  hur 
ried  consultation,  she  went  to  Mrs.  Congreve,  who, 
on  learning  that  her  husband  had  called  and 
wished  to  see  her,  became  very  much  excited, 
refusing,  of  course,  to  meet  him. 

'k  Tell  him,"  was  her  reply,  "  that,  if  I  can  pre 
vent  it,  he  shall  never  look  into  my  face  again." 

I  did  not  change,  in  a  syllable,  this  message. 

"It  is  well,"  he  said,  showing  less  disturbance 
than  I  had  expected. 

He  then  added : 

"  Of  course  you  have  not  failed  to  see  that  her 
reason  is  disturbed  ?  " 

I  assented,  unwittingly. 

"  In  other  words,  and  speaking  in  direct  lan 
guage;  she  is  an  insane  woman.  I  had  faith,  if  I 
could  have  gained  an  interview,  in  my  ability  to 
persuade  her  to  return  home.  Failing  in  this,  I 
must  place  her  under  constraint.  It  is  the  last  re 
sort  ;  and  I  would  delay  it  still  longer,  if  possible. 
But  this  step,  and  your  evident  concurrence  therein" 
— he  put  an  emphasis  on  the  last  words — "make 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  229 

my  duty  clear.  If  she  will  not  remain  under  her 
husband's  protection,  she  must  be  cared  for  in 
another  way.  An  insane  woman  cannot  be  per 
mitted  to  go  at  large." 

He  arose,  and  stood,  for  a  few  moments,  with 
something  irresolute  in  his  manner. 

"I  must  caution  you,"  he  said,  "against  putting 
too  implicit  faith  in  any  statements  she  ma}7,  in 
her  confusion  of  thought,  be  led  to  make.  She 
has  taken  up  some  extraordinary  hallucinations." 

u  I  can  and  will  make  all  allowance  for  the  un 
happy  state  of  mind  from  which  she  is  suffering," 
I  replied. 

He  stood  silent  again  for  some  moments,  and 
then  said : 

"I  cannot  help  expressing  surprise,  sir,  that 
you,  as  an  entire  stranger  to  me  and  my  family, 
should  be  so  ready  to  take  the  responsibility  of 
interference  in  a  matter  about  which  you  are 
wholly  ignorant.  I  am  not  used  to  having  my 
path  crossed  in  this  way ;  and  do  not  find  it  in  the 
least  agreeable." 

"There  has  been  no  interference  on  my  part, 
sir,"  I  answered.  "Your  wife  came  here  in  a 
most  unhappy  state  of  mind ;  and  we  have  done 
all  in  our  power  to  calm  her  excitement,  and  re 
store  the  mental  equipoise  that  has  been  sadly  dis 
turbed.  We  gave  her  quiet  and  seclusion.  No 
neighbor,  that  we  are  aware  of,  knows  of  her  pre- 


230  OUR  NEIGHBOES  W 

sence  in  our  family.  If  she  had  been  our  own 
sister,  we  could  not  have  treated  her  more  kindly, 
or  with  greater  consideration.  Have  you,  then, 
a  right  to  complain  of  us?  I  think  not,  sir!  Pas 
sion  and  force  are  not  the  means  of  restoration  in 
a  case  like  this.  There  must  be  a  course  of  wise 
conciliation.  And  you  must  pardon  me  for  say 
ing  that  if  I  am  to  judge  from  your  temper  to 
night,  you  have  not  always  pursued  this  course 
towards  the  woman  who  has  fled  from  under  your 
roof.  I  speak  plainly,  sir,  for  I  think  it  best  in  the 
outset  that  we  should  understand  each  other." 

"In  the  outset  of  what?  "  demanded  my  visitor. 

"  Of  an  intercourse  which  does  not  promise  to 
begin  and  end  to-night,"  I  replied. 

He  looked  at  me  sharply. 

"  You  are  a  bold  man  !  "  he  said. 

"  I  am  a  resolute  man,"  was  my  simple  an 
swer. 

"  I  am  puzzled  to  know  what  interest  you  can 
possibly  have  in  this  affair,"  he  remarked  after 
a  while. 

"I  have  an  interest  in  it,  notwithstanding,"  I 
replied. 

"  You !  What  interest,  pray  ?  "  His  manner 
was  a  little  startled. 

"Enough  to  make  me  oppose  any  attempt  to 
remove  Mrs.  Congreve,  against  her  will,  from  un 
der  my  roof,  ^.nd  I  suggest,  now,  that  you  give 


THE   COKNElt   HOUSE.  231 

up  at  once  all  thought  of  placing  her  in  an  asy 
lum,  as  I  infer  you  have  intended  doing." 

He  grew  pale  at  this  remark. 

"  So  long  as  she  is  content  to  remain  here  you 
had  better  permit  her  to  remain,"  I  added. 

"  Most  extraordinary !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Con- 
greve,  in  a  perplexed,  half  angry  voice.  "  I  can 
hardly  believe  my  own  ears.  It  seems  that  you, 
an  entire  stranger,  have  constituted  yourself  an 
umpire  in  my  affairs,  and  now  stand  ready  to  en 
force  your  decisions.  I  cannot  accept  your  inter 
ference,  sir,  and  I  will  not." 

"  You  state  the  case  too  strongly,  Mr.  Con- 
greve,"  said  I.  "  This  thing  has  been  thrust  upon 
me.  Providentially  I  have  been  drawn  into  a 
relation  with  your  wife  which  makes  a  certain  care 
for  her  a  common  duty.  And  when  I  see  a  duty 
clearly,  I  am  in  the  habit  of  compelling  myself  to 
go  forward  in  its  performance,  in  the  face  of  all 
consequences.  And  I  wish  you  to  understand 
that  there  will  be  no  holding  back  in  the  present 
case.  My  advice  to  you  is,  to  treat  me  as  a  friend, 
and  not  as  an  enemy.  You  will  accomplish  far 
more  by  acting  in  concert  than  in  opposition. 
Consider  my  house  an  asylum,  if  you  will,  and 
your  wiffe  in  durance  here.  I  will  hold  my 
self  accountable  to  the  last  particular  for  her 
safety." 

Mr.  Congreve  turned  from  me  abruptly,  and 


232  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

walked  the  full  length  of  the  parlor  two  or  three 
times. 

"  More  extraordinary  still ! "  he  ejaculated, 
stopping  before  me  at  last.  "  I  cannot  make  it 
out.  What  possible  interest  can  you  or  yours 
have  in  Mrs.  Congreve  ?  " 

"There  is  the  interest  of  common  humanity,"  I 
replied. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  it !  Wouldn't  give  that  for 
common  humanity!"  and  he  snapped  his  finger 
and  thumb  contemptuously.  "All  talk.  There 
is  more  beyond." 

He  threw  the  short  sentences  out  impul 
sively. 

"  Perhaps  there  is,"  said  I,  thinking  it  well  to 
warn  him. 

He  started  a  little,  and  again  I  saw  a  paler  hue 
on  his  face. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "that  nothing  is  to  be  accom 
plished  to-night,"  and  he  made  a  movement  to 
retire.  "  You  have  assumed  a  serious  responsi 
bility,  sir;  and  one  that  may  bring  you  into 
trouble.  I  am  not  a  man  used  to  having  my 
path  crossed;  nor  one  apt  to  forgive.  If  I  am 
not  always  a  warm  friend,  I  pride  myself  on 
being  a  bitter  enemy.  You  have  put  yourself 
in  antagonism  with  the  wrong  man,  and  I  warn 
you  to  re-adjust  your  position,  and  that  right 
speedily  I " 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  233 

He  stood  regarding  me  for  a  few  moments  with 
a  malignant  gleam  in  his  dark,  evil  eyes,  and  then 
went  out  hastily.  I  do  not  think  he  saw  any 
sign  of  fear  or  wavering  in  my  face. 


234  OUR  NEIGHBORS   IN 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

DID  not  think  it  well  to  alarm  my 
wife  by  repeating  all  the  threaten 
ing  intimations  of  Mr.  Congreve. 
It  would  only  create  uneasiness  of 
mind,  without  doing  any  good. 
Mrs.  Congreve  did  not  show  any  strong 
interest  in  the  fact  of  her  husband's  visit. 
He  was  so  hateful  to  her,  that  she  did  not 
care  to  speak  of  him. 

"You  needn't  tell  me,"  she  said,  "if  he 
comes  again.  I  wish  to  be  as  one  dead  to  him.  I 
am  only  sorry  that  he  has  annoyed  you,  that  his 
breath  has  polluted  the  air  of  your  home ;  but  I 
will  not  trouble  you  long." 

In  the  morning  Aunt  Mary  came  in  with  little 
Florry.  She  mentioned  that  Mr.  Congreve  had 
gone  away  soon  after  breakfast,  saying  that  he 
would  not  return  for  a  week.  This  information 
caused  Mrs.  Congreve  to  go  back  to  her  own 
house. 

When  I  learned   this  fact  I  was   relieved  in 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  235 

mind.  I  took  it  as  an  indication  that  Mr.  Con- 
greve  had  been  influenced  by  my  resolute  man 
ner,  and  would,  for  the  present  at  least,  refrain 
from  all  compulsory  measures  in  regard  to  his 
wife.  During  the  short  period  that  she  was  with 
us,  she  remained  in  a  tolerably  tranquil  state. 
My  wife,  even  in  this  time,  found  her  heart  going 
out  towards  her  with  an  unusual  tenderness ;  and 
Mrs.  Congreve  was  already  leaning  upon  her  and 
confiding  in  her  with  something  of  filial  confi 
dence. 

"  It  is  very  clear,"  said  my  wife,  "  that  for  some 
good  end  we  have  been  brought  into  this  close 
and  confidential  relation  to  Mrs.  Congreve.  I  feel 
it  more  and  more  sensibly  every  day.  She  needs 
a  friendly  interest  such  as  we  have  begun  to  feel ; 
and  counsellors  such  as  I  trust  God  will  give  us 
the  wisdom  to  be." 

"  Great  prudence  must  be  exercised  on  our 
part.  Edgar  will  find  her  out,  and  then " 

"  What  then?"  asked  my  wife. 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  difficult  question.  If  he  is  of 
the  same  purpose  now  as  when  he  gained  that 
first  interview  with  Mrs.  Congreve,  there  will  be 
a  state  of  things  hard  to  keep  in  a  right  moral  ad 
justment.  But  the  way,  I  trust,  will  be  made 
plain  for  all  of  us." 

"  When  a  wrong  path  is  entered,"  said  my  wife, 
"  what  human  foresight  is  able  to  reach  the  possi 


236  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

ble  termination  ?  Such  paths  never  lead  to  happi* 
ness." 

"  Never,"  I  replied ;  "  and  yet  the  world  takes 
them  with  a  blind  folly  that  is  inconceivable. 
The  father  of  Mrs.  Congreve  was,  we  may  suppose, 
a  man  of  ordinary  intelligence  in  the  common  af 
fairs  of  life — had,  in  most  things,  a  discriminating 
mind;  yet  what  fool  could  have  acted  with  a 
madder  insanity !  Did  he  love  himself  or  his 
child  most?  Ah,  it  was  his  self-love  that  blinded 
him  to  her  good;  that  made  him  fill  the  cup  of 
her  life  with  gall.  He  knew  from  reason,  obser 
vation,  and  written  life-histories,  that  the  most 
wretched  of  all  women  are  those  unhappily  mar 
ried ;  and  yet  he  literally  forced  his  child  into 
marriage  with  a  man  who  was,  as  he  had  every 
reason  to  believe,  loathed  in  her  heart.  Could  such 
seed  produce  anything  but  a  harvest  of  misery  ? 
And  was  there  any  guarantee  that  himself  would 
not  be  one  of  the  reapers  ?  The  misery  came  too 
surely ;  and  he  had  to  gather  his  garners  full. 

"  And  Mr.  Congreve.  How  the  law  of  cause 
and  result,  with  the  quality  of  the  cause  a,ctive  in 
the  result,  has  been  proved  in  his  case.  He  sowed 
the  wind,  and  verily  is  he  reaping  the  whirlwind  ! 
To  gain,  by  unfair  means,  or  through  wicked  de 
vices,  is  not  really  to  possess.  What  looked  like 
gold  in  the  distance,  turns,  in  all  such  cases,  to 
some  worthless  substance  in  the  hand,  that  wounds 


\ 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  237 

and  poisons  it,  mayhap.  Mr.  Congreve  has  fully 
illustrated  that  old  fable  of  the  physician  king. 
Tantalus-like,  he  is  athirst,  with  cool  water  below 
and  around  him ;  an-hungered,  with  fair  fruit 
bending  in  luscious  sweetness  from  full  boughs 
overhead;  yet,  when  he  stoops  to  drink,  the 
waters  recede  from  his  lips — when  he  stretches 
forth  his  hands,  the  full  laden  branches  lift  them 
selves  beyond  his  grasp." 

"  If  in  his  folly  and  wickedness,  he  had  cursed 
no  heart  but  his  own,"  said  my  wife  in  some  bit 
terness  of  spirit,  "  we  might  think  of  his  suffering 
without  regret.  We  might  even  feel  glad  in  his 
pain." 

"  No,"  I  remarked,  "  not  glad,  but  sorrowful. 
Pain  of  any  kind,  bodily  or  mental,  is  a  thing  to 
excite  our  pity,  not  our  joy." 

"  I  spoke  from  indignation,  and  that  is  oftener 
cruel  than  merciful,"  was  answered.  "  But  we 
are  only  human,  and  the  heart  will  rebel." 

"  Think  and  feel  as  we  may,"  I  said,  "  pity 
those  who  suffer  the  consequences  of  their  evil 
ways,  or  rejoice  in  the  sure  retribution  that  has 
found  them,  the  law  that  makes  pain  the  certain 
accompaniment  of  wrong  done  from  a  bad  end, 
will  ever  act  with  unerring  certainty.  The  bad 
man's  enemy,  pain,  will  surely  find  him  out." 

"  And  the  good  man's  friend,  delight,  find  him 
out  also." 


238  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN" 

"  Just  as  surely,"  I  replied.  "  The  law  works  in 
either  case  without  variableness  or  shadow  of  turn- 
ing." 

"Do  you  think,"  said  my  wife,  "that  Mr.  Con- 
greve  will  make  any  serious  attempt  to  get  his 
wife  into  an  asylum  ?  The  thought  every  now 
and  then  flits  through  my  mind  and  troubles  me. 
He  has  reason  enough  for  wishing  to  remove  her  from 
all  intercourse  with  persons  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  There  is  no  way  that  he  can  do  this  that  I  can 
imagine.  If  she  were  in  the  habit  of  riding  out 
with  him,  or  with  any  friend  in  his  confidence 
and  willing  to  act  with  him,  it  might  be  an  easy 
thing  to  drive  her  to  an  asylum  and  leave  her 
there.  But  as  she  never  goes  out  riding  with  any 
one,  the  difficulties  in  the  way  are  almost  insur 
mountable." 

My  wife's  mind  seemed  rather  more  at  ease  on 
this  subject  after  we  had  talked  it  over,  and  looked 
at  it  from  all  points  of  view. 

One  evening — it  was  the  third  or  fourth  from 
that  on  which  I  had  received  a  visit  from  Mr. 
Congreve — Aunt  Mary  came  in.  It  was  between 
nine  and  ten  o'clock.  She  had  evidently,  from 
the  expression  of  her  face,  a  purpose  beyond  a 
mere  call ;  and  both  myself  and  wife  waited  in 
expectation  of  some  request,  or  communication  of 
interest.  Nearly  five  minutes  passed  in  ordinary 
conversation  when  Aunt  Mary  said : 


THE    CORXER   HOUSE.  239 

"  You  wished  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no."  Aunt  Mary's  countenance  changed, 
and  she  spoke  quickly : 

"  You  sent  word  for  me  to  call  in." 

"Who  by?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Somebody  came  to  our  door 
and  said  that  you  wished  to  see  me." 

"  I  sent  no  such  word,"  replied  my  wife. 

"  It's  strange."  Aunt  Mary  had  risen,  and  her 
face  was  looking  slightly  alarmed.  "  You  are 
certain  you  did  not  send  for  me?  " 

"  Positive." 

"  I  can't  understand  it.  What  can  it  mean?" 
Our  visitor  stood  with  a  perplexed  manner  for  a 
little  while,  and  then  added :  "  I  must  run  home 
again.  Edith  was  asleep  on  the  sofa  when  I  left." 

I  took  up  my  hat  to  accompany  her  home.  She 
objected,  saying  that  it  was  only  a  step,  and  she 
would  not  trouble  me.  But  I  felt  a  vague  sus 
picion  that  something  was  wrong,  and  I  went  with 
her. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  we 
reached  the  pavement. 

I  turned  my  eyes  towards  the  corner.  There  was 
a  carriage  at  the  door,  and  I  saw,  indistinctly, 
a  man  enter  it.  Then  the  carriage  started,  the 
horses  moving  with  a  sudden  spring,  and  whirl 
ing  away,  passed  out  of  sight  in  the  darkness 
before  we  reached  the  spot  on  which  it  had  been 


240  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

standing.  The  door  of  the  house  stood  wide  opon. 
As  we  entered,  I  detected  the  smell  of  ether. 
Aunt  Mary  ran  up-stairs  swiftly,  and  I  heard  her, 
a  moment  afterwards,  calling  in  an  alarmed  voice 
for  the  servant.  The  girl  answered  from  one  of  the 
rooms  in  the  third  story. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Congreve  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Mary, 
as  the  servant  came  down  stairs. 

"  She's  lying  on  the  sofa,"  replied  the  girl. 

"  No,  she's  not  in  the  room  where  I  left  her." 

"  Maybe  she's  gone  to  bed,"  said  the  girl. 

"  No,  she's  not  in  her  chamber.  Who  came  in 
that  carriage  ?  " 

I  had  gone  up-stairs,  and  now  stood  in  the  pas 
sage  on  the  second  floor.  The  servant  looked  be 
wildered  at  these  questions,  and  in  a  hurried, 
alarmed  voice,  said : 

"  I  didn't  see  any  carriage,  ma'am,"  she  replied. 
"  Nobody's  been  here." 

"  Somebody  has  been  here !  I  saw  a  carriage 
drive  away,  and  found  the  front  door  open. 
Edith  I"  Aunt  Mary  called  the  name  in  a  quick} 
eager  manner.  But  there  came  no  reply. 

"  What  strange  odor  is  that  ?  "  she  turned  her 
ashen  face  upon  me. 

I  did  not  reply  that  it  was  ether.  She  was 
alarmed  enough  already. 

"When  did  you  go  up-stairs?"  Aunt  Mary 
spoke  to  the  servant. 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  241 

"  Just  after  you  went  out,"  she  replied. 

"  Was  Mrs.  Congreve  asleep  on  the  sofa,  then  ?  '* 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Who  told  you  that  I  had  been  sent  for  ?  " 

"  A  girl  came  to  the  door,  ma'am,  and  said  you 
were  wanted  in  there  for  a  little  while." 

I  looked  narrowly  at  the  servant  as  she  an 
swered  these  questions.  Something  in  her  man 
ner  did  not  satisfy  me. 

"  You  heard  a  carriage  drive  away  just  now  ?  " 
said  I. 

"  I  heard  a  carriage,"  she  replied,  "  but  didn't 
know  it  was  from  our  house."  Her  eyes  were  not 
lifted  from  the  floor  as  she  answered  me. 

We  now  went  to  the  sitting-room.  As  I  enter 
ed,  I  noticed  that  the  smell  of  ether  was  stronger 
here  than  in  the  passage.  There  was  no  doubt  on 
my  mind  as  to  what  it  meant.  The  truth  had 
flashed  on  me  the  instant  I  perceived  the  peculiar 
odor  mentioned.  Mr.  Congreve,  or  some  one  em 
ployed  by  him,  had  entered  the  house  soon  after 
Aunt  Mary  left,  and  by  means  of  ether  produced 
unconsciousness  in  Mrs.  Congreve,  and  then  re 
moved  her,  noiselessly,  to  the  carriage !  The 
truth,  I  saw,  had  now  reached  the  thought  of  Aunt 
Mary ;  for  she  sat  down  in  a  feeble  way,  and 
looked  into  my  face  despairingly. 

"  Do  you  think  he  has  done  this?  "  she  asked,  in 
a  choking  voice. 

11 


242  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  it,"  I  replied. 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  " 

I  did  not  answer. 

"Where  is  Florry?"  Aunt  Mary  started  up 
suddenly. 

"She's  all  right,  ma'am  !  She's  in  her  bed,"  said 
the  servant  in  a  positive  way. 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  of  it,  ma'am." 

But  no  assurance,  except  that  of  her  own  eyes, 
could  satisfy  Aunt  Mary.  She  ran  over  into  the 
chamber  where  the  child  slept,  and  found  her 
there. 

I  noticed  this  positive  manner  in  the  servant, 
and  yet  she  had  not  been  in  Florry's  chamber 
since  she  came  down-stairs.  How  did  she  know 
that  the  child  had  not  been  taken  away  with  the 
mother?  I  felt  suspicion  against  her  increasing 
in  my  mind. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  Our  case  seemed,  for 
that  night  at  least,  helpless  and  hopeless.  Edith 
had  been  spirited  away  in  the  darkness,  and  there 
was  no  sign  as  to'  the  direction  which  had  been 
taken.  Pursuit,  for  the  time  being,  therefore, 
would  be  a  vain  effort,  and  was  not  attempted. 
In  my  own  thought  there  was  no  question  as  to 
the  agency  at  the  work  and  the  purpose  in  view. 
Mrs.  Congreve  would  be  removed  to  an  insane 
asylum,  in  order  to  prevent  communication  with 


THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  243 

my  family,  and  with  any  other  persons  to  whom 
she  might  be  led  to  speak  of  things  that  were 
likely  to  involve  her  husband  in  serious  conse 
quences.  My  greatest  anxiety  was  for  the  effect 
on  Mrs.  Congreve,  when  she  awakened  from 
insensibility.  I  feared  this  shock  would  com 
plete  the  ruin  of  an  already  disturbed  intellect, 
which,  under  right  influence,  might  have  been 
restored  to  its  normal  condition. 

Nothing  could  be  done  for  that  night.  My 
wife  remained  with  Aunt  Mary,  and  I  lay  awake 
in  perplexed  thought  pondering  the  uncertain 
work,  and  doubtful  result,  that  were  before  me 
on  the  next  day. 


244  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

the  morning  early,  I  took  a  horse 
and  buggy,  and  drove  to  the  In 
sane  Asylum,  located  about  two 
miles  from  the  city.  I  did  not 
know  the  Superintendent  person 
ally  ;  but  his  reputation  as  a  wise, 
humane,  and  honorable  man,  precluded 
all  question  as  to  his  right  conduct  in  the 
case  of  Mrs.  Congreve,  should  she  have 
been  placed  in  his  care.  He  was  above 
the  suspicion  of  being  accessory  to  any  scheme  of 
iniquitous  incarceration.  If  I  found  her  there,  I 
did  not  doubt  of  my  ability  to  secure  her  almost 
immediate  dismissal.  But  on  gaining  an  inter 
view  with  the  Superintendent,  I  was  satisfied  that 
Mrs.  Congreve  was  not  there.  I  explained  to  him 
the  way  in  which  she  had  been  removed,  and  de 
scribed  her  person,  so  that  if  she  were  brought 
there  during  the  day,  he  might  understand  the 
case,  and  treat  it  with  the  judicious  care  it  required. 
He  seemed  indignant  at  the  outrage  which  had 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  245 

been  committed,  and  said,  that  if  the  object  were 
to  give  to  a  temporary  aberration  of  mind  a  per 
manent  condition,  no  surer  way  could  have  been 
adopted. 

Daring  the  day  I  communicated  with  the  Chief 
of  Police,  and  in  the  afternoon  visited  the  asylum 
again.  But  I  could  learn  nothing  of  Mr.  Con- 
greve.  I  now  began  to  fear  that  she  had  been 
taken  from  the  city  by  one  of  the  early  morning 
trains.  The  probability  of  this  being  done  had 
been  suggested  to  my  mind  on  the  night  before, 
but  I  had  reasoned  against  it  on  the  ground  that 
such  an  attempt  would  not  be  made,  as  Mrs.  Con- 
greve,  on  becoming  sensible,  would  violently  ex 
pose  her  husband.  He  would  not  hazard,  I  had 
said  to  myself,  the  doubtful  experiment  of  con 
veying  her  from  the  city  in  a  car  or  steamboat. 
Now,  it  occurred  to  me,  that  he  might  have  ren 
dered  her  partially  stupid  by  drugs,  and  while 
in  this  condition  removed  her  without  attracting 
attention. 

I  returned  from  my  late  afternoon  visit  to  the 
asylum,  in  a  troubled  and  despondent  state  of 
mind.  The  twilight  was  falling  as  I  stood  at  my 
own  door.  In  going  through  the  hall,  I  noticed, 
in  a  side  glance,  a  man  sitting  in  the  parlor.  I 
kept  on  to  the  end  of  the  hall,  where  I  removed 
my  hat  and  coat. 

"  Who  is  in  the  parlor  ?  "    I  inquired  of  a  servant 


f  . 

246  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

She  replied  that  she  didn't  know.  The  gentle 
man  had  asked  for  my  wife,  but  on  learning  that 
she  was  out,  had  asked  to  see  me.  He  had  not 
given  his  name.  I  learned  from  the  servant  that 
my  wife  was  still  absent.  So  I  went  into  the  par 
lor  to  see  who  was  there,  and  what  the  visitor 
wanted. 

The  man  arose,  in  the  twilight  of  the  room  ex 
tending  his  hand,  and  calling  me  by  name.  I 
took  the  offered  hand,  and  strained  my  eyes  in 
the  dusky  atmosphere,  but  could  not  make  out 
his  face. 

"  You  don't  know  me,  I  see,"  he  remarked. 

I  now  detected  something  familiar  in  the  voice. 
My  eyes  were  getting  used  to  the  feeble  light  in 
the  room,  and  I  perceived  his  face  more  distinct 
ly.  I  had  seen  the  lineaments  before,  but  where 
and  when  I  was  not  able  to  recal. 

"You  do  not  know  me,"  he  repeated,  seeing 
that  I  continued  to  look  at  him  in  a  doubtful 
way. 

"My  memory  is  certainly  at  fault,"  I  an 
swered. 

"  I  am  changed  since  we  met  last,  and  not  much 
wonder."  His  voice  fell  to  a  low  key.  "I  am 
Edgar  Holman !  " 

My  hand  closed  on  his  with  an  eager  grip.  Till 
then,  it  had  been  lying  loosely  in  my  clasp,  as 
when  he  laid  it  there. 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  247 

"Oh,  Edgar!"  I  exclaimed.  "It  is  you  in 
deed!" 

He  had  not,  evidently,  anticipated  anything  so 
cordial  as  this  recognition,  nor  would  he  have  re 
ceived  it  but  for  my  full  assurance  of  his  inno 
cence,  gained  through  the  story  of  Mrs.  Con- 
greve. 

"  Yes,  or  at  least  what  is  left  of  me,"  he  re 
plied. 

We  sat  down,  face  to  face,  and  I  looked  at  him 
attentively.  The  old  expression  and  the  old  out 
line  of  his  countenance  were  gone.  I  would 
scarcely  have  known  him.  He  had  passed  through 
the  fire,  and  the  signs  of  its  terrible  power  were 
visible. 

"  Alice  is  not  home,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  She  is  in  at  one  of  our  neigh 
bors  ;  but  will  return  soon." 

It  then  occurred  to  my  mind,  that  it  would  be 
best  for  me  to  see  my  wife  first,  and  take  a  little 
counsel  with  her  in  regard  to  Edgar,  sol  added: 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me  for  a  moment  I  will 
go  for  Alice." 

I  found  her  with  Aunt  Mary,  who  was  waiting 
in  a  most  anxio.us  state  of  mind  for  my  arrival, 
hoping  that  some  intelligence  of  Edith  would 
reach  her  through  me.  But  I  brought  her  neither 
light  nor  comfort. 

The  few  moments  of  hurried  thought  I  was  able 


248  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

to  give  to  the  subject,  led  me  to  the  conclusion 
that  Aunt  Mary  ought  now  to  be  made  acquainted 
with  our  relationship  to  Edgar  Holman ;  and  also 
with  the  fact  that  he  had  arrived  at  this  most  im 
portant  crisis.  His  aid  in  discovering  Mrs.  Con- 
greve  would  be  invaluable.  Yet  the  question  as 
to  whether  he  should  be  informed  on  the  subject 
was  the  one  of  most  difficult  solution.  In  ap 
proaching  the  matter  with  Aunt  Mary,  I  said  : 

"  You  are  aware  that  Mrs.  Congreve  related 
her  history  to  my  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"And  that  we  have  shown  a  very  decided  in 
terest  in  her?" 

"Yes." 

"  An  interest  that  may  have  occasioned  you 
some  surprise." 

"It  has.  We  were  only  strangers,  and  in  a 
doubtful  attitude." 

" There  was  a  reason  for  it,"  I  said.  "She 
had  a  miniature  clasped  in  her  hand  on  the  night 
we  found  her  so  near  to  the  door  of  death.  I 
saw  the  face,  and  so  did  my  wife,  on  that  occa 
sion." 

"  It  was  the  miniature  of  Edgar  Holman,"  said 
Aunt  Mary. 

"And  Edgar  Holman  is  my  wife's  cousin." 

Aunt  Mary  laid  her  hand  quickly  across  her 
bosom,  and  looking  at  my  wife,  said — 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  249 

"  Can  that  be  possible  !  " 

"  It  is  even  so,"  she  replied. 

"  And  I  have  one  more  communication  to 
make.  He  is  here  !  " 

"  Edgar  ?  "  exclaimed  my  wife. 

"  Yes,  Edgar." 

"Where?" 

"  At  our  house.  I  found  him  there  on  my 
arrival  at  home,  just  now." 

The  new  complication*  of  affairs  which  this  ap 
pearance  of  Edgar  was  likely  to  occasion,  sug 
gested  itself  to  both  Aunt  Mary  and  my  wife,  and 
kept  them  silent.  Their  minds  seemed  to  be  in  a 
maze  of  doubt. 

"  I  mention  this  now,"  I  said,  "  in  order  that 
we  three  may  take  counsel  on  the  subject  before 
my  wife  sees  her  cousin.  The  question  is,  shall 
he  be  informed  of  your  proximity,  and  the  exist 
ing  state  of  things.  My  own  mind  is  not  clear." 

"Better  wait  for  a  little  while,"  replied  Aunt 
Mary,  without  hesitation.  "  Listen  first  to  what 
he  will  relate,  and  gain  from  what  he  says  some 
knowledge  of  his  state  of  mind.  We  can  then 
more  easily  decide  what  it  will  be  right  for  us  to 
do." 

I  saw  that  this  was  the  correct  view,  and  at  once 
assented. 

We  found  Edgar  in  a  feverish  state  of  mind. 
He  had  arrived  from   the   West   that  afternoon 
11* 


250  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

and  was  in  pursuit  of  Mr.  Congreve,  having  got 
upon  his  track  after  being  for  month>  baffled  by 
false  indications,  which  led  him  always  in  an  op 
posite  direction  from  the  true  one.  He  related  the 
story  of  his  love  for  Edith,  with  a  tenderness  of 
feeling  that  melted  us  to  tears  ;  of  his  arrest,  trial, 
condemnation,  and  long  imprisonment,  with  such 
vivid  portraitures  of  his  agonized  mental  state, 
that  we  seemed  to  be  passing  through  the  fiery 
trial  ourselves ;  of  his  fierce  indignation  against 
Mr.  Congreve  when  the  full  knowledge  of  his 
complicity  became  known  to  him,  in  such  strong 
words,  that  we  found  ourselves  carried  away  by 
his  wild  spirit  of  vengeance. 

How  weak  I  felt  before  this  strongly  agitated 
man,  with  the  memory  of  such  cruel  wrongs  spur 
ring  him  on,  single-handed  to  retribution ;  and 
yet  my  duty  was  to  lead  him  to  a  better  way 
than  the  one  he  was  dashing  forward  in  with 
headlong  fury.  How  was  this  to  be  done?  I 
felt  so  weak,  that  I  prayed  for  wisdom  and 
strength.  I  looked  upwards,  and  said — "Lord 
teach  me !  " 

As  we  sat  together  on  the  next  morning,  J 
said : 

"This  deep  provocation,  Edgar,  has  blinded 
your  reason.  You  do  not  see  clearly." 

"  I  have  not  pretended  to  see  for  some  time," 
he  answered.  "  I  only  feel." 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  251 

"  We  must  walk  by  sight,  if  we  would  reach 
the  goal  of  our  wishes ;  not  with  shut  eyes,  nor 
in  the  darkness.  No  real  good  is  secured,  if 
sought  in  violation  of  human  or  divine  laws. 
The  wrong  you  have  suffered,  cannot  be  righted 
through  another  wrong." 

"  The  wrong  is  too  great,"  he  answered,  "  for 
adjustment  by  ordinary  modes  of  redress.  Mr. 
Congreve  has  removed  the  question  from  judicial 
grounds,  and  now  it  is  only  to  be  settled  at  a 
higher-law  tribunal." 

u  There  are  two  commandments,"  I  said, 
"  which  are  included  in  both  civil  and  divine  codes, 
by  which  external  and  internal  order  are  main 
tained.  Now  you,  in  the  blindness  of  passion, 
deliberately  propose  to  break  one  or  both  of  these 
laws.  There  is  murder  in  your  heart,  and  there 
is,  also,  the  firm  intent  to  possess  yourself  of 
another  man's  wife.  I  put  the  issue  in  words 
without  disguise." 

"  She  is  not  his  wife,"  Edgar  answered  indig 
nantly.  "  He  gained  possession  of  her  through  a 
wicked  fraud.  Her  heart  is  mine,  not  his." 

"  She  gave  her  hand  to  him,"  I  replied  calmly, 
"  of  her  own  free  will,  and  promised  to  be  faithful 
to  him  before  God  and  man.  He  is  legally  her 
husband,  and  he  is  also  the  father  of  her  child. 
Here  are  the  plain,  ultimate  facts,  which  cannot 
be  altered.  Do  not,  let  me  conjure  you  most 


252  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

solemnly,  attempt  to  go  past  them.  You  and 
Edith  have  been  wretched  enough  in  the  past ; 
do  not  make  the  future  doubly  wretched." 

He  did  not  answer  for  some  time  after  I  made 
this  appeal.  At  last  he  said,  taking  firm  hold 
upon  my  arm,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  from  which 
the  late  fierceness  was  gone — 

"  I  have  had  no  counsellor  but  my  own  wildly 
throbbing  heart,  and  maybe  that  is  leading  me 
astray.  It  would  be  no  wonder !  " 

"It is,  Edgar — assuredly  it  is!  Lean  on  me 
for  the  present.  Trust  in  me.  Be  patient  and 
enduring  for  a  while  longer.  Day-dawn  has  come 
after  the  black  night  season,  and  the  morning 
will  break.  Oh,  wait  for  the  morning — wait  in 
the  patience  of  hope,  that  when  it  comes,  it  find 
not  all  the  ground  desolate." 

He  seemed  much  softened  by  this  appeal,  and 
I  went  on,  trying  to  lead  him  into  a  better  state, 
where  rational  thought  could  have  power  over 
him,  and  I  was  in  a  small  degree  successful. 

Edgar  only  knew  that  Mr.  Congreve  had  come 
East.  Beyond  this,  he  was  yet  uninformed.  There 
did  not  seem  to  be  in  his  mind  the  remotest  idea 
of  the  family's  immediate  proximity. 

For  months,  since  his  release  from  prison,  he 
had  been  an  excited  wanderer  from  place  to  place, 
his  mind  eager  in  the  pursuit  of  one  object.  There 
had  been  no  rest,  no  opportunity  for  reflection, 


THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  253 

no  retreat  from  the  outside  world,  into  which  he 
could  retire,  and  find  calmer  influences  than  those 
by  which  he  was  surrounded.  He  had,  in  a  word, 
no  home.  In  supplying  these,  we  gained  just  so 
much  on  the  right  side.  !  He  had  turned  aside 
from  the  world,  and  entered  the  sphere  of  home, 
and  I  could  see  that  its  power  over  him  was  felt. 

The  closer  I  observed  him,  and  the  more  I 
thought  upon  the  subject,  the  clearer  it  became 
that  he  must  not  be  informed  of  what  was  then 
passing.  A  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Con- 
greve  had  carried  off  his  wife,  and  that  she  was 
now,  in  all  probability,  in  some  mad-house  in  the 
vicinity,  in  danger  of  becoming  a  confirmed  mani 
ac,  would  have  set  his  whole  being  on  fire.  He 
would  have  become  doubly  desperate.  And  so, 
greatly  as  we  needed,  his  aid — greatly  as  we  might 
have  profited  by  his  undying  ardor  in  the  case — 
we  dared  not  let  him  into  the  secret. 

Securing  his  promise  to  remain  with  us  for  a 
few  days  at  least,  and  without  making  any  attempt 
to  prosecute  his  searches  in  our  city  for  the  present, 
I  left  Edgar  with  my  wife,  and  started  forth  early, 
to  obtain,  if  possible,  some  intelligence  of  Mrs. 
Congreve.  As  she  had  been  taken  away  in  a 
carriage,  I  set  on  foot,  through  aid  of  the  police, 
inquiries  among  hackmen,  with  intimations  of  a 
reward ;  but  up  to  the  evening  of  the  second  day, 
no  one  was  found  who  would  admit  having  been 


254  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

employed  on  the  occasion  of  Mrs.  Congreve's 
forcible  removal.  Two  other  asylums  were 
visited,  but  without  finding  the  object  of  my 
search. 

What  was  to  be  done?  Every  passing  hour 
made  the  danger  to  Mrs.  Congreve  more  imminent. 
If  reason  were  not  already  permanently  de 
throned,  the  utter  prostration  of  her  mind  was 
almost  inevitable,  if  a  much  longer  time  elapsed 
before  her  restoration  to  Aunt  Mary  and  her  child. 
By  aid  of  the.  telegraph  and  police,  I  had  made 
inquiries  in  neighboring  cities ;  but  so  far  without 
any  result. 

"This  last  act  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Congreve," 
said  I  to  Aunt  Mary,  as  we  sat  in  gloomy  confer 
ence  that  night,  "throws  him  beyond  the  pale  of 
consideration.  He  has  gone  a  step  too  far,  and 
risked  too  much.  "We  must  give  this  matter  to  the 
public  by  advertisement,  let  the  consequences  be 
what  they  may." 

She  did  not  reply  immediately.  The  sugges 
tion  was  new,  and  she  was  giving  it  some  consi 
deration. 

"  What  good  will  follow  ?  "  she  asked,  at  length. 

"  It  may  lead  to  the  discovery  of  Mrs.  Oon- 
greve." 

"  And,  at  the  same  time,  expose  everything  to 
Edgar,"  replied  Aunt  Mary.  "  Is  there  not  more 
to  be  lost  than  gained  ?  " 


THE   COBNER   HOUSE.  255 

"  The  greatest  loss  is  Mrs.  Congreve's  reason," 
said  I. 

"  No."     She  simply  uttered  the  word. 

"  What  greater  loss  in  this  case  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Can  you  not  see  ?  " 

I  signed  a  negative  without  speaking. 

"There  is  something  of  higher  account  than 
reason.  A  stained  soul  is  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  a  shattered  intellect.  It  may  be  as  well  that 
Edith  was  removed  just  at  this  time.  She  is  not 
strong  enough  to  hold  back  should  Edgar  reach 
out  his  arms  for  her  with  the  passionate  appeal 
he  once  made.  Attracted  on  one  side  so  strongly, 
and  repelled  with  equal  force  on  the  other,  she 
would  have  no  adequate  power  of  resistance. 
Poor  child  !  poor  child  !  It  were  better,  perhaps, 
that  the  worst  we  have  feared  for  her  should  take 
place.  I  could  accept  that  before  the  other  and 
more  direful  consequence." 

This  was  taking  a  new  view  of  the  case,  and 
one  against  which  I  offered  no  argument. 

"  You  think,  then,"  I  said,  "  that  public  notori 
ety  should  for  the  present  be  avoided  ?  " 

"  Under  the  circumstances,  I  do." 

"  In  the  nature  of  things,  Edgar  cannot  remain 
very  long  in '  his  present  ignorance,"  I  suggested. 

"No;  but  we  can  wait  until  the  veil  shall  fall 
of  itself,  so  to  speak,  or  in  better  words,  until 
Providence  shall  permit  it  to  fall.  That,  let  us  be- 


256  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

lieve,  will  be  the  best  time.  For  the  present 
when  all  is  dark  before  us,  we  had  better  keep 
back  our  rash  hands.'7 

"  There  is  reason  in  what  you  say,"  I  remarked. 
"  But  if  inaction  is  to  be  added  to  suspense  ?  " 

"  Let  us  do  what  we  can  in  the  way  our  best 
judgment  dictates,"  said  the  even-toned  woman, 
"and  try  to  have  patience  for  the  result.  There 
is  a  way  above  our  ways — a  Providence  that 
works  beyond  men's  evil  deeds  to  the  accom 
plishment  of  the  highest  remaining  good.  Our 
dear  Edith  is  in  the  hands  of  One  who  will  not 
depart  from  her,  even  in  this  hour  of  darkness. 
He  will  preserve  in  her  that  which  is  most  pre* 
cious  and  eternally  enduring.  I  rest  the  matter 
here  in  unwavering  confidence.  I  have  no  other 
hope,  and  cling,  in  my  weakness  and  sorrow,  to 
this." 

I  answered  nothing.     What  could  I  say  ? 

"  In  patience  and  hope  for  to-morrow,"  I  said, 
as  I  held  her  hand  in  parting  that  night. 

"There  will  be  a  to-morrow,"  she  answered, 
yet  her  lips  quivered,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears. 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE. 


257 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


'0-MOKROW   came,   but   not  in 
sunshine.     It  opened  on  a  day 
as  dark  as  the  previous  one  had 
been.     Not  a  sign  carne  to  our 
troubled,     waiting     hearts.       I 
spent  the  greater  part  of  it  in 
fruitless  efforts  to  gain  some  intelligence 
of  Mrs.  Congreve. 

Edgar,  after  his  long,  eager,  passionate 
state  of  mind,  had  fallen  into  what  seemed 
more  like  stupor  than  calmness.  He  sat  brooding, 
rather  than  thinking,  for  hours  at  a  time.  After 
relating  to  us,  in  all  the  fervor  of  a  life- realiza 
tion,  the  sorrowful  story  of  his  past,  he  scarcely 
referred  to  it  again. 

On  the  third  day,  he  went  out  for  the  first  time. 
We  felt  anxious  lest  he  should  meet  the  truth  we 
were  trying  to  conceal  from  him,  face  to  face. 
But  we  had  come,  to  some  extent,  into  Aunt 
Marv's  state  of  mind.  The  power  to  determine 
results  according  to  our  own  judgment  was  not 


258  OITR    NEiaHBORS    IN 

with  us;  arid  so  we  tried  to  wait  patiently,  and 
in  the  belief  that  all  things  would  work  to  the 
best  termination  under  the  circumstances. 

"  It  is  night — dark  night,"  we  said.  "  But  the 
earth  is  revolving,  and  morning  is  on  its  way." 

In  the  evening,  as  we  sat  talking,  Edgar  said 
abruptly  : 

"  Who  lives  in  the  corner  house  ?  " 

My  heart  gave  a  sudden  throb,  for  I  perceived 
in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  a  concealed  interest  in 
the  question.  Now,  there  was  more  than  a  sing'e 
corner  house  in  our  neighborhood.  Where  two 
streets  cross  each  other,  there  are  usually  four 
corner  houses.  So  I  answered,  while  rny  wife's 
eyes  rested  a  little  anxiously  on  my  face — 

"  A  Mr.  Wetmore,"  giving  the  name  of  a  gen 
tleman  who  lived  opposite  the  dwelling  which 
Mr.  Congreve  had  taken. 

"  Why  did  you  ask  ?  "  I  inquired,  seeing  that  he 
made  no  further  remark.  I  was  too  desirous  to 
know  the  reason  why  he  had  put  the  question  to 
leave  the  matter  in  suspense.  He  answered,  with 
out  much  apparent  interest  in  his  tones: 

"  I  thought  I  recognised  a  face  at  the  window." 

My  wife  and  I  exchanged  startled  glances. 

u  The  name  is  Wetmore,  you  said  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  It  was  the  house  on  this  side  of  the  street  and 
at  the  nearest  corner,"  remarked  Edgar.  Now 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  259 

Mr.  Wetmore  lived,  as  I  have  said,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street.  My  cousin  looked  at  me,  as  if 
for  confirmation  in  regard  to  the  occupancy,  by 
Mr.  Wetmore,  of  the  particular  house  he  had  de 
signated.  I  let  my  eyes  fall  away  from  his,  and 
did  not  answer  his  questioning  look. 

"  It  was  very  much  like  her  face,"  he  said,  af 
ter  a  while,  speaking  partly  to  himself. 

"Like  whose  face?"  asked  rny  wife,  who  felt 
as  I  did,  that  something  must  be  said,  lest  silence 
should  awaken  suspicion. 

"  Like  the  face  of  Edith's  aunt.  I  saw  it  for 
only  a  moment,  receding  from  the  window,  and 
turning  from  me  in  what  I  have  thought  a  hurried 
way.  But  fancy  may  have  deceived  me;  and  it 
is  not  the  first  time."  Both  Alice  and  I  looked 
away  from  Edgar.  We  feared  that  our  counte 
nances  might  betray  us. 

"There  was  a  child  at  the  window,  also,"  said 
Edgar,  "  and  it  had  a  countenance  like  sunshine 
for  beauty  and  brightness.  I  stopped  to  look  at 
the  rare,  sweet  face,  and  caught  the  image  in  my 
rnind.  I  am  not  apt  to  be  struck  with  children's 
faces;  but  this  one  impressed  me  in  a  peculiar 
waj7,  and  moved  my  feelings  as  if  by  a  strain  of 
old  familiar  music,  heard  after  the  lapse  of 
years." 

He  fell  away  into  a  state  of  absent-mindedness, 
from  which  we  did  not  seek  to  awaken  him.  He 


2CO  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IX 

was  about  recurring  to  the  incident  again,  when  J 
'turned  his  thought,  by  a  question,  into  some  other 
and  safe  direction. 

On  the  next  day,  business  took  me  into  a  part 
of  the  city  far  distant  from  that  in  which  I  lived. 
It  was  at  the  northern  side,  and  near  the  suburbs. 
The  man  I  wished  to  see  lived  in  one  of  six  ra 
ther  ancient-looking  houses,  some  of  which  had 
been  modernized  by  new  fronts,  and  other  showy 
improvements,  while  three  or  four  of  them  re 
tained  all  the  unsightly  marks  of  time  and  not 
verv  careful  usage.  These  had  heavy  wooden 
shutters  to  the  third  story,  the  large  black  iron 
bolt  giving  them  a  prison-like  appearance.  On  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street  were  six  more  of  the 
same  style  of  houses,  showing  nvich  the  same 
contrast  between  advancement  and  retrogression. 

After  finishing  my  business  with  the  person 
upon  whom  I  had  called,  he  walked  to  the  door 
with  me,  and  we  stood  there  conversing  for  some 
minutes.  As  I  parted  from  him,  and  walked 
down  the  marble  steps  that  led  from  his  door,  I 
noticed  a  small  slip  of  paper,  to  which  a  narrow 
piece  of  black  ribbon,  not  over  two  inches  in 
length,  was  attached,  fluttering  down  in  the  air, 
which  was  a  little  disturbed  by  wind.  It  fell  up 
on  the  pavement  a  little  in  advance  of  rne,  and  I 
was  about  passing  it,  when  an  impulse  of  curiosi 
ty  induced  me  to  stoop  and  pick  it  up.  It  had 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  261 

evidently  been  torn  from  the  fly-leaf  of  a  book, 
and  in  a  hurried  manner.  The  edges  had  a  fresh 
appearance,  as  if  the  rent  had  just  been  made. 
The  piece  of  ribbon  was  not  cut  at  the  ends,  but 
ragged;  and  the  hole  in  the  paper  through  which 
it  had  been  passed,  had  plainly  been  made  with 
the  fingers.  But  there  was  no  ink  or  pencil 
mark  on  the  paper,  nor  any  scratch  formed  into  an 
intelligible  sign.  Only  a  few  pin-holes  were  visi 
ble  ;  but  I  could  make  nothing  of  them.  It  looked 
like  a  child's  work  done  in  aimless  play,  and  I 
was  about  throwing  it  down  as  a  thing  of  no  sig 
nificance,  when  I  changed  my  purpose  and  thrust 
it  into  my  pocket. 

My  thought  went  away  from  the  little  slip  of 
paper  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  out  of  sight,  but 
returned  again  in  a  few  minutes.  I  took  it  from 
my  pocket  and  looked  at  it  again.  The  little 
perforations  made  with  a  pin,  or  some  sharp  in 
strument,  now  struck  me  as  being  more  numerous 
than  at  first  sight.  But  after  examining  them  for 
a  few  moments,  I  crumpled  the  paper  in  my  hand, 
and  was  about  casting  it  from  me,  when  a  dif 
ferent  impulse  led  me  to  place  it  again  in  my 
pocket. 

I  had  to  walk  for  a  distance  of  several  blocks 
before  reaching  a  street  railway  line.  As  I  took 
my  place  in  a  car,  this  suggestion  crossed  my 
mind. 


262  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN' 

"  That  piece  of  paper  may  have  been  a  signal 
from  Mrs.  Congreve!  " 

For  a  moment  or  two  I  dwelt  upon  this,  and 
then  pushed  it  aside  as  improbable.  But  it  re 
turned  after  a  little  while,  and  held,  for  a  consider 
able  time,  possession  of  my  mind.  I  had  heard 
of  such  things  as  private  asylums  for  the  insane, 
or  of  such  persons  as  powerful  relatives  might 
have  an  interest  in  secluding. 

The  thought  dwelt  with  me  so  steadily  that  1 
determined  to  call  on  Aunt  Mary  and  show  her 
the  trifle  I  had  picked  up.  She  looked  at  me  ex 
pectantly  as  I  came  in,  but  I  shook  my  head,  and  met 
the  question  she  would  have  asked  with  the  words : 

"No  news." 

She  sighed  deeply,  and  in  a  disappointed  way. 
I  then  took  the  bit  of  paper  and  ribbon  from  my 
pocket  and  handed  them  to  her  without  speaking. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  did  not  answer.  She  looked  at  them  closely. 
In  an  instant  I  saw  her  face  change. 

"  Where  did  you  get  this  ?  "  There  was  a  low 
thrill  of  eagerness  in  her  voice. 

"  I  picked  it  up  in  the  street." 

She  held  it  to  her  eyes  again  with  a  more  care 
ful  scrutiny. 

"  Edith  had  on  a  mourning  collar  with  a  piece  of 
ribbon  in  the  edge  just  like  this !  " 

"Are  you  certain?  " 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  263 

"Very  certain." 

It  was  difficult  for  either  of  us  to  repress  the  ex 
citement  we  now  felt. 

'•Let  us  examine  the  paper  more  carefully," 
said  I.  "  There  are  pin  marks  all  over  it." 

We  brought  it  close  to  the  light.  At  first  we 
could  make  nothing  out  of  these  minute  perfora 
tions.  But  we  soon  saw  that  they  had  a  certain 
regularity. 

"  There  is  E,  plainly  enough  !     Can't  you  see  it  ?  " 

Aunt  Mary's  eyes  were  quicker  than  mine. 
Yes.  I  saw  it  now.  The  letter  E  had  been  punc 
tured  by  a  pin  or  needle. 

"And  that  is  E!     EC!" 

"  Edith  Congreve !  "  The  words  fell  from  me 
as  we  looked  at  each  other  in  sudden  astonish 
ment. 

"  You  picked  this  up  in  the  street?  "  said  Aunt 
Mary. 

"  Yes.  It  came  down  to  me,  fluttering  in  the 
wind,  and  I  lifted  it  with  no  thought  of  its  true 
significance." 

"  Did  you  see  the  house  from  which  it  came?  " 

"  No.  But  it  was  from  one  of  twelve.  I  will 
return  there  immediately." 

"  Gro— go  quickly  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Mary. 
"  The  signal  may  be  repeated.  I  am  lure  it  was 
from  Edith.  If  she  saw  you  once,  she  may  see 
you  again. ' 


264  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

Without  waiting  for  a  longer  conference,  1 
started  forth,  and  taking  a  car,  was  soon  on  my 
way  back  to  the  neighborhood  I  had  just-  left. 
There  were  in  the  block,  as  I  have  said,  twelve 
houses.  Originally,  they  had  been  built  with 
heavy  white  shutters,  from  the  first  to  the  third 
stories.  But  about  half  of  them  had  been  altered 
in  this  particular,  and  the  lighter  Venetian  gave  to 
them  a  less  prison-like  aspect.  By  contrast,  the 
others  were  now  gloomier,  and  more  suggestive  of 
warehouse  contents  than  the  faces  of  happy  wives 
and  children.  On  reaching  the  square,  which  was 
flanked  on  either  side  by  these  grim-looking  dwell 
ings,  I  ran  my  eyes  in  a  rapid  way  along  the 
dingy  fronts,  from  house  to  house,  with  a  kind  of 
vague  expectation.  But  the  house  gave  no  sign. 
Not  a  shutter  moved,  not  a  face  appeared,  no  hand 
threw  me  a  quick  signal.  I  walked  slowly  along 
one  side  of  the  street,  affecting  not  to  be  on  the 
lookout,  but  with  my  eyes  making  quick  passages 
from  window  to  window,  running  backwards  and 
forwards,  up  and  down,  like  the  fingers  of  a 
skilful  player  on  the  keys  of  an  instrument. 
Then  I  crossed  over  and  walked  in  the  same  way 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  But  to  no  better 
purpose. 

Three  times  was  this  done,  the  same  result  fol 
lowing.  In  two  of  the  prison-like  houses  on  one 
side  of  the  street,  and  in  one  of  them  on  the  oilier 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  265 

side,  the  shutters  of  the  second  and  third  stories 
were  just  a  little  bowed,  as  the  ladies  call  it.  In 
the  others,  they  were  as  tightly  closed  as  if  the 
houses  were  tenantless.  I  conjectured  that  in  one 
of  the  houses  with  the  bowed  shutters,  Mrs.  Con- 
greve  was  confined,  and  I  kept  upon  them,  for  the 
most  part,  rny  watchful  eyes.  But  all  proved  in 
vain.  Fearful  of  attracting  a  suspicious  attention, 
I  was  about  leaving  the  neighborhood,  and  had 
turned  to  walk  away,  when  on  throwing  back  a 
last  glance,  I  noticed  a  small  bit  of  paper  floating 
down  upon  the  air.  It  was  midway  between  the 
houses,  and  when  I  first  saw  it,  higher  than  the 
second  story  windows.  It  fell  near  the  centre  of 
the  street,  and  at  some  distance  from  where  I 
stood.  My  heart  beat  rapidly.  Here  was,  I 
doubted  not,  another  signal  from  the  imprisoned 
lady.  I  marked  the  spot  where  the  paper  fell, 
and  then  glanced  from  house  to  house  to  see  if 
any  one  was  observing  me,  or  in  a  condition  to 
observe  me.  should  I  attempt  to  get  the  little  mis 
sive  into  my  possession.  JS'o  one  being  visible,  I 
walked  back  along  the  pavement,  until  I  came  op 
posite  to  where  the  bit  of  paper  lay,  and  was  turn 
ing  off  from  the  pavement,  when  I  heard  a  shutter 
pushed  open  just  above  my  head.  I  glanced  up 
wards,  and  the  face  of  a  woman  looked  down  upon 
me.  It  was  a  hard,  sallow,  sinister  face,  and  the 
eyes,  as  they  rested  for  a  moment  on  mine,  had,  I 
12 


266  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

imagined,  something  evil  in  their  look  of  quick 
inquiry. 

Passing  on,  without  securing  the  piece  of  paper, 
which  I  saw  had  a  bit  of  black  ribbon  attached  to 
it,  I  walked  on  as  far  as  the  corner  and  then  crossed 
over,  so  that  I  could  see  the  house  opposite  to 
which  it  was  lying  without  turning  purposely  to 
do  so.  The  shutter  which  had  been  pushed  open, 
remained  partly  unclosed,  and  I  saw  the  woman's 
head  just  far  enough  advanced  to  give  her  a  good 
line  of  observation,  up  and  down  the  street.  In 
stead  of  returning  by  the  other  side,  which  would 
have  been  to  draw  the  woman's  more  scrutinizing 
eyes  upon  me,  and  create  suspicion,  if  there  existed 
in  her  mind  any  ground  of  suspicion  towards  a  too 
curious  stranger,  I  passed  the  corner,  along  a  cross 
street,  and  so  out  of  the  range  of  her  vision. 

In  about  ten  minutes  I  returned  by  the  same 
way.  As  I  regained  the  corner,  from  which,  at  a 
glance,  I  could  see  the  house  before  which  the 
object  I  was  so  anxious  to  obtain  lay,  I  saw  that 
the  shutter  which  had  been  opened  so  untimely, 
was  closed.  Quickly  crossing  to  that  side,  and 
moving  down  to  the  point  I  wished  to  reach,  I 
saw  the  bit  of  paper  lying  just  where  it  had  fallen. 
In  an  instant  it  was  in  my  possession.  I  did  not 
examine  it  until  I  was  in  the  cars,  on  my  way 
back. 

It  was  very  similar  to  the  piece  of  paper  which 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  26 T 

I  had  picked  up  only  a  short  time  before,  and 
had  evidently  been  torn  from  a  fly-leaf  of  the  same 
book  from  which  that  had  been  torn.  The  two  or 
three  inches  of  black  ribbon  were  broken  off  at  the 
ends,  instead  of  being  cut,  and  the  hole  in  the 
paper,  through  which  it  had  been  passed,  was  evi 
dently  one  made  with  the  fingers.  Little  perfora 
tions  covered  the  face  of  this  bit  of  paper,  as  they 
had  covered  the  one  previously  obtained.  But  I 
was  at  fault  as  before ;  I  could  not  make  out  any 
form  of  letters.  For  nearly  the  whole  distance  of 
my  long  ride  in  the  cars,  I  endeavored  to  wrest 
from  those  little  pin-marks  the  important  secret 
they  kept  too  well ;  but  all  to  no  purpose.  The 
perforations  were  so  few  and  far  apart  that  I  was 
unab]e  to  connect  them. 

Aunt  Mary's  eyes  were  soon  added  to  mine  in 
the  scrutiny.  I  expected  her  to  read  the  signs  at 
once,  but  after  puzzling  over  them  for  ten  minutes, 
she  could  only  make  out  E  C,  and  that  did  not 
unravel  half  that  was  written,  or  rather  punctured. 
The  form  of  every  letter  in  the  alphabet  was  ap 
plied  to  the  irregular  series  of  dots,  but  we  could 
make  no  correspondence  with  either.  At  last 
Aunt  Mary  exclaimed : 

"  They  are  not  letters  but  figures!  This  one  is 
5." 

I  saw  the  form,  as  with  a  pencil  she  united  the 
points  by  dark  lines. 


268  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

"What  is  the  next?  "  I  said,  all  in  a  tremor  of 
nervous  excitement. 

We  were  at  fault  only  for  a  few  moments. 

"  It  is  the  figure  4,"  said  Aunt  Mary ;  and  her 
pencil  made  it  clearly  apparent  to  oar  eyes  in  a 
moment. 

"  And  now  for  the  next !  "  1  could  not  repress 
my  eagerness.  Before  Aunt  Mary  had  made  out 
the  last  figure  I  saw  the  outline. 

"It  is  2!"  I  exclaimed.  "542!  The  very 
number  of  the  house  from  which  that  bad  face 
looked  out  upon  me  with  such  a  sharp  expression. 
I  noted  it  down  as  I  passed." 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE. 


269 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


DITH  is  there !  "  said  Aunt  Mary, 
as   we    read    with    un  doubt  ing 
clearness,  the  initials  and  figures 
"E  C,  542,"     In    the  ardor  of 
examination  she   had  remained 
singularly    composed,  but   DOW  she  was 
trembling  all    over,  and   beads  of  sweat 
>k-to  "    on  her  pale  face. 

"She  is  there,  without  question," 
said  I  in  response.  "  Mr.  Congreve 
has,  in  order  to  baffle  our  search,  placed  her  in 
a  private  house." 

"What  will  you  do?"  asked  Aunt  Mary. 
"  How  can  you  get  her  from  this  prison  ?  If  you 
fail  in  the  first  attempt  she  may  be  taken  beyond 
our  reach." 

"  1  do  not  mean  to  fail,"  was  my  encouraging 
answer.  "  When  I  return  to  that  neighborhood, 
it  will  be  in  the  name  of  civil  authority,  and  with 
civil  power  at  my  ri^ht  hand." 


270  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  Can  you  secure  this?"  she  inquired  anx 
iously. 

u  Without  doubt!"  I  spoke  in  the  most  as 
sured  manner.  "  The  Chief  of  Police  is  interested 
in  the  case,  and  when  he  learns  that  Mrs.  Cori- 
greve  is  in  all  probability  confined  in  the  house 
I  will  point  out  to  him,  I  can  answer  for  his  prompt 
action.  She  will  be  restored  to  us,  I  trust,  in  less 
than  an  hour  from  this  time." 

"  Oh,  sir,  do  not  delay  a  moment !  "  said  Aunt 
Mary,  laying  her  hand  on  my  arm.  "  Go — go — 
and  quickly  !  Even  now,  suspicion  awake,  they 
may  be  removing  her." 

I  said  what  assuring  words  I  could  find,  and 
was  going  down  stairs,  when  my  wife,  whom  I 
had  not  seen  since  morning,  pushed  open  the  street 
door,  and  came  in  quickly.  She  had  a  partly 
folded  newspaper  in  her  hand.  On  seeing  me  she 
cried  out  in  a  voice  full  of  excitement — 

"  Oh,  husband  !     Have  you  heard  of  it  ?  " 

"  Heard  of  what,  Alice?  "  I  saw  something  ID 
her  face  that  I  did  not  understand. 

"About  Mr.  Congreve!" 

"No;   what  of  him?  " 

"  What  of  him  ?  "  echoed  the  voice  of  Aunt 
Mary  behind  me. 

"  Edgar  saw  it  in  the  paper  a  little  while  ago/' 

"Saw  what,  Alice?"  I  spoke  almost  impa 
tiently. 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  271 

"He  is  hint  badly,  and  the  paper  says  cannot 
live  !  There  was  an  accident  in  the  cars." 

"Where?" 

"  Near  Baltimore.     Bat  here  it  is." 

I  took  the  newspaper  from  the  hand  of  my  wife 
aud  read  aloud : 

"  FATAL  ACCIDENT. — This  morning,  as  the  train 
from  Washington  was  within  half  a  mile  of  Elk 
Ridge  Landing,  an  axle  of  the  last  car  broke,  and 
the  car  becoming  uncoupled,  was  thrown  from  the 
track.  One  man,  Mr.  Dyke,  of  Missouri,  was 
killed,  and  two  others  so  badly  injured  that  they 
cannot  possibly  survive.  Of  the  wounded  men, 
we  could  learn  the  name  of  only  one.  That  was 
Congreve.  a  gentleman  of  wealth,  formerly  resid 
ing  in  the  West.  One  of  the  passengers  fully  re 
cognised  him.  His  injuries  are  of  an  internal 
character,  and  it  is  said  that  he  cannot  possibly 


"  Can  it  be,"  said  I,  turning  to  Aunt  Mary, 
"that  this  is  the  husband  of  your  niece?  " 

"Heaven  knows,"  she  answered,  through  blanch 
ed  lips,  tremulously. 

'•  Edgar  will  know  of  a  certainty,"  said  my 
wife,  "  for  he  is  already  on  his  way  to  Baltimore  ; 
or  at  least  on  his  way  to  the  cars  that  will  take 
him  there  to-day." 


272  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

When,  a  little  while  afterwards,  I  parted  from 
my  wife  and  Aunt  Mary  to  visit  the  Chief  of  Po 
lice,  and  get  his  efficient  aid  in  the  work  of  reco 
vering  Mrs.  Corigreve,  I  felt  that  the  knotted  skein 
of  her  unhappy  life  was  about  to  be  untangled. 
The  concurrence  of  events  seemed  too  remarkable 
fur  any  other  anticipation.  And  yet,  while  all 
lay  still  in  darkness  and  uncertainty,  a  heavy 
weight  rested  on  my  feelings.  It  was  only  con* 
jecture  that  Mrs.  Congreve  was  in  the  house  num 
ber  5-i'J.  The  evidence,  at  first  sight,  was  conclu 
sive:  but  so  much  was  at  stake,  that  my  -heart 
from  hope  went  down  into  anxious  doubt,  and 
from  doubt  went  up  to  Confidence  again,  so  alter 
nating  at  every  step  of  the  way  in  which  I  was 
passing  forward. 

After  I  had  related  to  the  Chief  of  Police  all 
that  the  reader  knows,  and  showed  him  the  bits 
of  paper  I  had  picked  up,  he  called  one  of  his 
deputies,  and  asked  him  who  lived  in  the  house 
number  542  H—  -  street.  •  The  prompt  answer 
was — 

«  Dr.  T ." 

"  I  thought  so,"  replied  the  Chief. 

"  You  know  him,  then  ?  "   I  said. 

"Yes;  I  know  the  man  very  well.  He's  a 
physician  of  some  previous  reputation,  but  not 
much  in  practice  now;  at  least  not  in  an  active 
city  practice.  He  receives  patients  into  his  house 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  2*76 

more  frequently  from  a  distance.  They  are  usually 
treated  for  some  form  of  insanity." 

"  Judiciously  treated?  "  I  asked. 

•'  I  cannot  say  anything  to  the  contrary,"  was 
replied.  "Nothing  that  demanded  our  interfe 
rence  has  before  occurred;  and  now  there  is  no 
evidence  of  bad  treatment.  The  lady  is  only  de 
tained  against  her  will." 

"  Against  justice  and  humanity  as  well !  "  I  de- 
chired  warmly. 

The  Chief  only  bowed. 

"  You  say,"  he  remarked,  "  that  this  lady's 
annt,  with  whom  she  was  living  at  the  time  of  her 
forcible  removal,  is  not  only  anxious  for  her  resto 
ration,  but  ready  to  attest  the  cruel  wrong  that  the 
act  of  removal  involves." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  answered. 

u  Then  it  will  be  well  for  me  to  see  her,  and 
best,  perhaps,  that  she  accompany  us  to  the 
house." 

"Shall  I  call  a  carriage?  "  I  asked. 

The  Chief  assented.  The  deputy  entered  with 
us,  and  we  drove  to  Mr.  Congreve's  house.  There 
a  brief  interview  was  held  with  Aunt  Mary,  and 
the  Chief  of  Police  being  entirely  satisfied,  re 
quested  her  to  accompany  us,  whfch  she  did. 

Half  an  hour  brought  us  to  the  locality  before 
described.  I  suggested  that  we  should  leave  the 
carnage,  when  in  the  neighborhood,  and  approach 
12* 


274  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

the  house  on  foot.  But  the  officer  understood  his 
own  business  better  than  I  did,  and  let  the  driver 
rattle  up  to  the  very  door,  which  opened  almost 
as  soon  as  we  reached  the  pavement — -that  is, 
three  ef  us.  The  deputy  had  orders  to  remain  in 
the  carriage. 

With  the  air  of  a  man  on  business,  the  officer 
ascended  the  steps,  we  following. 

"  Is  Doctor  T in  ?  "  he  asked  of  a  woman 

who  held  the  door  partly  open,  putting  his  hand 
upon  it  as  he  spoke,  and  pushing  it  back. 

I  heard  an  affirmative  answer.  The  officer  then 
passed  in,  Aunt  Mary  and  I  close  after  him. 
The  woman  showed  us  into  a  parlor  that  was  well 
furnished  and  apparently  well  kept.  A  few  choice 
pictures  hung  on  the  walls. 

"What  name?"  asked  the  woman. 

I  gave  my  name,  knowing  it  would  be  an  un 
familiar  one  to  the  doctor. 

We  sat  for  three  or  four  minutes,  when  a  short, 
stout,  firm-looking  man  entered.  His  complex;on 
was  fair,  and  the  heavy  beard  that  covered  his 
mouth  and  chin  a  little  mixed  with  grey.  His 
eves  were  small,  dark,  and  full  of  quick  intelli 
gence.  The  expression  of  his  face  was  pleasing 
rather  than  repulsive.  He  bowed  and  smiled  on 
meeting  us. 

"  You  have  a  lady  under  your  care,"  said  the 
officer,  speaking  at  once,  and  in  a  quiet  but  self- 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE.  275 

possessed  way,  "  that  we  wish  to  see.  Her  name 
is  Mrs.  Congreve." 

My  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  doctors  face.  A 
kind  of  pleasant  surprise  came  into  it. 

"  Are  you  not  mistaken?  "  he  returned,  with  a 
smile. 

I  felt  my  heart  sink  heavily.  We  had  been 
deceived  in  our  conjectures!  It  was  plain  to  me 
that  Mrs.  Con  grove  was  not  there. 

"  I  believe  not,"  replied  the  officer.  "  The  lady 
may  not  be  here  as  Mrs.  Congreve ;  still  the  one 
we  seek  is  in  your  house.  A  pale  lady  in 
black.  Her  aunt  wishes  to  see  her." 

The  smile  went  out  of  the  doctor's  face.  I  saw 
that  and  took  hope  again.  He  did  not  answer 
immediately.  I  waited  for  his  words,  holding  my 
breath — so  did  Aunt  Mary. 

"  You  speak  in  a  positive  way,  sir." 

The  officer  bowed.  His  eyes  were  upon  the 
Doctor,  whose  manner  lost  just  a  shade  of  self- 
possession.  It  was  recovered  again  immediately. 

"If  I  had  a  lady  patient  under  my  charge 
answering  to  your  description,  I  should  require, 
for  her  production,  something  more  than  the  simple 
demand  of  a  stranger." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  officer,  quietly  taking 
from  his  pocket  a  small  ^gilt  token  of  authority 
and  attaching  it  to  the  breast  of  his  coat. 

The  doctor's  manner  changed  instantly. 


276  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN 

u  The  lady  was  taken  from  her  home  forcibly — 
abducted,  in  other  words — and  you,  in  becoming 
a  party  to  the  matter,  have  incurred  a  serious 
responsibility." 

"  I  had  the  certificate  of  her  family  physician 
as  to  the  state  of  her  mind,  and  the  necessity  for 
treatment,"  the  doctor  replied,  thus  admitting  the 
important  fact  that  Mrs.  Congreve  was  in  the  house. 
He  spoke  in  an  assured  way. 

"Who  was  her  physician  ?  "'  I  asked. 

"  I  do  not  now  remember  the  name.  But  the 
certificate  is  in  my  possession.  I  am  particular  in 
regard  to  all  these  matters." 

"  Can  we  see  the  paper  ?  "  said  the  police  officer. 

The  Doctor  went  to  a  secretaire  in  the  bactk 
parlor,  and  taking  from  a  drawer  a  small  bundle 
of  papers,  selected  one  and  brought  it  forward. 
The  officer  examined  it  for  a  moment  and  then 
handed  it  to  me.  I  saw  that  the  name  of  Mrs. 
Edith  Congreve  was  in  the  document.  The  sig 
nature,  with  an  M.D.  attached,  I  did  not  know. 
Silently,  I  passed  it  to  Aunt  Mary. 

"It  is  a  forgery,"  she  said,  promptly.  ''No 
such  physician  is  known  to  us — no  such  physician 
was  ever  in  our  family."' 

"This  has  a  bad  aspect,"  said  the  officer,  as  he 
took  the  paper  from  Aunt  Mary's  hand,  and  reach 
ed  it  to  the  Doctor.  "Such  things  cannot  be  done 
with  impunity  in  this  city  while  I  stand  at  the 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  277 

bead  of  its  police.  Let  us  see  the  lady  at 
once." 

He  spoke  the  last  sentence  in  a  tone  of  authority 
not  to  be  misunderstood. 

"Come,  madam,"  he  added,  looking  towards 
Aunt  Mary,  who  rose  to  her  feet  instantly. 

"  Show  us  to  the  lady's  apartment."  The  officer 

was  moving  towards  the  door.  Doctor  T 

made  no  further  opposition,  but  led  the  way  up 
stairs,  we  following.  On  reaching  the  third  story, 
he  called  a  female  attendant,  who  sat  in  a  small 
room  sewing,  and  directed  her  to  show  Aunt 
Mary  into  the  front  chamber.  The  woman  drew 
a  bunch  of  keys  from  her  pocket,  and  unlocked  the 
door,  opening  it  only  part  of  the  way.  Aunt  Mary 
passed  in,  while  we  stood  waiting  on  the  outside. 

I  heard  a  quick,  glad  exclamation  in  a  well 
known  voice.  Yes,  Mrs.  Congreve  was  there.  In 
three  or  four  minutes  the  two  ladies  came  out, 
both  in  tears  and  strongly  agitated.  I  grasped 
the  hand  of  Mrs.  Congreve,  and  looked  earnestly 
into  her  face.  She  uttered  my  name,  adding : 

"  Oh,  sir ;  I  am  your  debtor  more  than  tongue 
can  tell ! " 

There  was  no  wildness  in  her  manner,  nor 
other  evidence  that  her  reason  had  been  seriously 
disturbed  by  the  outrage  she  had  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  her  husband.  My  heart  beat  lighter  as 
I  saw  this. 


278  CUE   NEIGHBORS   IN 

We  did  not  linger  on  the  way  down-stairs,  but 
passed  out  quickly,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour 
Mrs.  Congreve  was  safely  in  her  own  home,  nothing 
the  worse,  as  far  as  we  could  see,  for  the  ex 
citement,  fear,  and  painful  suspense  of  the  last 
few  days. 


THE   CORNER   HOUSE. 


279 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


HE  newspapers  on  the  next  morn 
ing  brought  intelligence  of  Mr. 
Congreve's death.    He  had  lived 
only  a  few  hours  after  the  acci 
dent.      An  undertaker  went  on 
to  Baltimore,  and  had  the  body 
properly  interred  in  Green  Mount  Ceme 
tery. 

On    the    third    day    after    his  hurried 
departure,  Edgar  Hoi  man  returned. 
"  It  was  mine  enemy,''  he  said,  as  he  reached  out 
his  hand  to   me.     "I  looked   into  his   face,  and 
was  satisfied." 

"  He  is  dead/'  I  remarked. 
"  Yes  ;  and  gone  to  his  reward.  He  cursed  my 
life  ;  but  I  do  not  think  his  was  any  happier  in  con 
sequence,  or  will  be  through  the  interminable 
ages.  Let  him  pass  now.  He  is  out  of  my  way, 
and  I  would  that  the  memory  of  him  might  de 
part  from  me  for  ever.  But  where  is  Edith  ?  I 
could  learn  nothing  of  her  or  Aunt  Mary.  They 


280  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IK 

were  not  with  him.  He  was  on  his  way  to  Balti 
more  from  Washington.  I  went  to  the  last- named 
city  and  found  his  name  on  one  of  the  hotel  re 
gisters  ;  but  it  stood  alone,  and  without  his  place 
of  residence  added." 

As  there  existed  no  reason  why  Edgar  should 
not  receive  all  the  information  about  Edith  which 
we  had  to  give,  I  said : 

"  We  can  help  you  in  this." 

"  You  can  !  "  He  became  greatly  excited,  for 
he  saw  that  I  was  in  earnest. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  The  object  of  your  search 
is  in  our  immediate  neighborhood." 

"  My  Edith !" 

"  Yes,  your  Edith.  Is  it  not  so,  Alice  ?  "  I  look 
ed  towards  my  wife. 

"  It  is  as  my  husband  declares,"  she  replied. 
"I  have  known  her,  intimately  I  might  say,  for 
months." 

"  You,  Alice !  you  know  my  Edith  intimately 
for  months  !  "  He  turned  to  my  wife,  and  catching 
both  her  hands,  held  them  tightly.  Hippies  of  joy 
were  playing  like  sunbeams  over  his  face.  "Oh, 
Alice,  Alice!" 

"  I  know  her,  and  love  her,  Edgar.  And  even 
before  you  came,  had  from  her  own  lips  all  the  sad 
story  of  her  life." 

"  This  is  too  much  happiness  !  "  exclaimed  the 
agitated  young  man.  "  I  shall  lose  myself.  To 


THE   CORNER    HOUSE.  281 

think  that  morning  has  indeed  broken  after  such 
a  night !  But  where  is  she  ?  " 

"  You  have  seen  Aunt  Mary  already  ?  "  said  I. 

"Where?  when?" 

"You  saw  her  at  the  window  of  tli£  corner 
house." 

"  And  you  knew  it !  "  He  turned  his  eyes  flash 
ing  upon  me. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  led  me  away  from  the  object  for  which  I 
was  in  search  ?  " 

He  spoke  almost  indignantly. 

"  For  your  own  good  and  for  hers  also.  The 
time  had  not  yet  come,"  I  said  calmly.  "  You 
were  riot  in  a  state  to  be  trusted  with  that 
knowledge." 

"  You  were  right,  no  doubt,"  he  answered,  as  he 
drew  a  long,  sighing  inspiration. 

"  And  she  has  told  you  all,  Alice  ?  "  Turning  to 
my  wife  he  caught  her  hand  again. 

"Yes." 

"  All  about  our  love?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Her  heart  is  true  to  me  still?"  He  bent 
nearer  for  the  answer. 

"  True  to  you  still,  Edgar,"  she  replied. 

"  Thank  God  !  thank  God !  Hope,  so  long 
mocked,  had  lost  faith  in  a  day  like  this.  But 
did  Edith  know  that  I  was  so  near  her  ?  " 


282  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"  She  did  not." 

"  Does  she  know  of  it  now  ?  " 

"I  think  not." 

"I  must  see  her."  he  said.  "The  joy  of  oar 
meeting  shall  be  no  longer  delayed.  Oh,  Edith  ! 
Edith!" 

He  was  losing  himself. 

"  As  you  were  calm  in  suffering,  Edgar,"  said 
I,  u  so  be  calm  in  the  blessing  that  is  now  about  to 
crown  your  life.  The  mind  of  Edith  has  been 
greatly  shocked.  There  have  been  periods  when 
reason  wavered.  We  have  had  anxious  care  on 
her  account ;  but  she  is  in  a  better  state  now.  Do 
not  disturb  that  state  by  communicating  your 
own  disturbance.  When  you  meet  her  let  it  be 
as  a  strong  man,  against  whom  the  waves  of  her 
weak  feelings  may  break  and  be  bounded.  She 
will  need  all  your  wise  as  well  as  loving  care. 
Think  of  Edith,  and  of  what  will  be  best  for  her. 
It  would  be  a  sad  thing  to  lose  her  now." 

"  Lose  her  now  1  "  He  grew  pale,  and  asked, 
huskily,  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  shock  of  excessive  joy  is  sometimes  fatal 
to  reason,"  said  I.  "  Edith  must  be  guarded  from 
all  sudden  excitement.  She  does  not  yet  know 
that  Alice  is  your  cousin,  and  had  better  first 
be  told  of  this.  Then  the  rest  can  be  gradually 
communicated." 

How  strangely  is   human  prudence,  and  all  its 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  283 

wise  forecast,  sometimes  set  at  naught !  Even  as 
I  said  this,  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  we  sat 
conversing,  was  pushed  open,  and  Edith  carne  in 
with  her  almost  noiseless  step.  We  had  not  heard 
her  light  ring.  She  stopped  a  pace  or  two  in  the 
room,  seeing  a  stranger.  I  did  not  utter  her 
name,  nor  did  a  word  fall  from  my  wife's  lips. 
We  were  in  too  much  surprise  and  anxiety  to 
speak. 

"  Edith,  darling ! "  Edgar  did  not  start  forward, 
nor  say  these  two  words  in  a  wild  throbbing  tone. 
He  only  moved  towards  her  with  a  quiet  step ; 
and  his  voice,  though  unspeakably  tender,  was 
low  and  calm.  She  stood  still — still  as  if  life 
had  ceased  instantly. 

"The  night  has  departed,  Edith!"  He  took 
her  hands,  and  kissed  her,  oh,  so  gently !  so 
placidly  I — yet  so  lovingly  !  " 

"  We  have  both  prayed  for  this  hour,  love,  and 
it  has  come  at  last ;  and  God  make  us  thankful." 

He  drew  his  arm  around  her,  still  looking  into 
her  eyes.  We  stood  apart,  silent,  motionless,  and 
in  tremulous  fear.  She  only  gazed  into  his  face. 

"  Mine ! "     He  said  the  word  softly. 

I  saw  a  motion  on  her  lips,  and  a  flash  of  feel 
ing  in  her  eyes. 

"Mine,  for  ever!"  His  voice  was  just  a  little 
tenderer — not  in  the  least  excited. 

Now  her   bands  were   raised,  and   she   placed 


284  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IN" 

them  on  his  shoulders.  I  saw  the  dead  calm  of 
her  face  begin  to  break  up;  I  saw  light  coming 
into  it. 

"Oh,  Edgar!"  A  smile  glinted  on  her  lips, 
as  the  words  came  forth. 

His  lips  touched  her  lips  again.  I  now  per 
ceived  that  he  was  trembling  under  the  rush  of 
feelings  he  was  struggling  to  control. 

My  wife  stepped  forward,  and  with  her  woman's 
tact  said,  looking  at  Edith — 

"  Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  cousin." 

In  the  surprise  of  that  intelligence,  as  a  new 
emotion,  she  hoped  to  save  her  from  being  borne 
down  by  other  emotions,  that  were  momentarily 
gaining  power;  and  she  was  successful. 

Edith  looked  away  from  Edgars  charmed  gaze, 
into  the  face  of  my  wife. 

"  My  cousin,"  was  repeated. 

A  gleam  of  pleasure,  mingled  with  the  sur 
prise  x\lice  wished  to  create,  lighted  up  the  counte 
nance  of  Edith. 

"My  Edgar!"  The  happy  woman  laid  her 
face  down  upon  the  young  man's  breast — not  lost, 
not  in  wild  bewilderment,  not  in  tremulous  agi 
tation,  but  with  a  strange  quietude  of  manner  that 
I  scarcely  comprehended. 

"  Won't  you  send  for  Aunt  Mary  ?  "  she  asked. 

My  wife  went  for  Aunt  Mary  and  prepared  her 
for  the  interview  with  Edgar.  When  she  came  in 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  285 

Edith  started  forward,  now  for  the  first  time  los 
ing  herself,  and  throwing  her  arms  about  the  neck 
of  her  true-hearted  relative,  wept  passionately  for 
several  minutes.  Then,  the  sunshine  came  out 
after  this  rain  of  tears.  I  saw  in  the  pale  cheeks 
of  Edith,  already,  the  faint  signs  of  returning 
warmth,  the  promise  of  summer  roses.  She  had 
passed  through  the  shock  of  meeting  with  Edgar, 
which  we  had  feared,  and  was  stronger  and  calm 
er.  Her  heart  was  already  gathering  up  the  se- 
v  rod  chord  in  the  rending  of  which  life  had  well 
nigh  perished. 

'•  There's  been  something  going  on  in  that  cor 
ner  house,"  said  our  neighbor,  Mrs.  Watkins,  call 
ing  over,  as  she  did  every  now  and  then,  on  the 
evening  of  this  same  da}r,  "  and  for  the  life  of  me, 
I  can't  make  it  out." 

She  had  all  along  taken  a  lively  interest  in  the 
strangers  at  the  corner,  but  as  we  had  good  rea* 
son  for  keeping  our  own  counsel,  Mrs.  Wilkins 
never  found  herself  any  wiser  by  researches  in  the 
direction  of  our  house.  We,  of  course,  took  a 
lively  interest  in  what  she  had  to  say,  because, 
through  her.  we  gained  a  knowledge  of  outside 
impressions,  and  learned  how  near  the  truth  of  the 
matter  our  neighbors  were  getting.  They  were 
not  very  much  wiser  by  what  they  could  learn. 

"  What  seems  to  be  going  on  there  ?  "  asked  my 
wife. 


286  OUR   NEIGHBORS   IN 

"Oh,  everything  that  is  mysterious.  The  ped 
pie  about  here  are  getting  very  much  exeitea 
about  the  matter." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes!" 

"  What  is  exeiting  them  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you,  because  I  think  you  ought  to 
know.  You've  been  seen  going  in  there  a  few 
times,  and  the  two  ladies  in  at  the  corner  house 
have  been  seen  visiting  you.  As  this  is  the  case, 
you  should  be  apprised  of  just  what  people  are 
saying  about  them." 

"  What  do  they  say  ?  "  we  asked. 

"  It  is  said  that  the  white-faced  lady,  Mr.  Con- 
greve's  wife,  has  been  guilty  of  a  crime  that  ex 
pelled  her  from  society  in  the  West." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  said  rny  wife. 

"  You'd  better  believe  it,  then,"  replied  Mrs. 
Wilkins.  "  Fm  sure  it's  so." 

"  Wliiit  else  is  said?"   I  inquired. 

u  It's  said,  that  only  a  few  nights  ago,  a  carriage 
was  seen  standing  at  the  door,  and  that  a  man 
jame  out  of  the  house  carrying  a  woman  in  his 
arms,  who  was  thrust  into  the  carriage,  he  getting 
in  after  her.  The  carriage  drove  off,  no  one  at 
tempting  to  stop  it." 

"  Anything  more?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes.  A  Mr.  Congreve  was  killed  on  the  rail 
road  between  Baltimore  and  Washington — Con- 


i 

THE    CORNER   HOUSE.  287 

greve  is  the  name  of  the  family  at  the  corner 
house — and  people  say  it's  the  corner  house  man. 
himself.  But  nobody  has  been  brought  there 
and  there's  been  no  crape  on  the  door.  I'm  puz 
zled  ;  I  can't  make  it  out.  I  suppose  they  were 
glad  to  get  rid  of  him,  and  I  shouldn't  much 
wonder,  judging  him  from  his  face." 

Thus  Mrs.  Wilkins  ran  on  ;  while  we  kept  silent 
as  to  the  true  facts  in  the  case. 

A  few  days  afterwards  the  lady  came  in  to  re 
late  another  story  with  which  her  husband  had 
just  furnished  her.  A  customer  from  the  West 
had  given  Mr.  Wilkins  nearly  the  true  version 
the  death  of  Mr.  Congreve  having  revived  in  his 
mind  the  half- forgotten  circumstances  in  the  case 

"  But  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilkins,  after  finishing  a  pretty  accurate  narra 
tive  of  what  had  really  occurred.  "It's  too  im 
probable." 

The  truth  to  her  was  stranger  than  fiction,  ana 
she  fell  back  on  the  first  story  she  had  heard 
about  the  killing  of  a  lover. 

We  encouraged  her  to  believe  in  the  true  nar 
rative  ;  but  she  shook  her  head  in  obstinate 
doubt.  It  wasn't  at  all  a  likely  tale,  she  averred. 
There  were  "  too  many  ins  and  outs  in  it — too 
much  risk  involved.  ISTo  man  would  be  fool 
enough  to  lay  such  a  trap  for  his  own  fingers." 

So  in  our   neighbor's  eyes  the   mystery  in  tho 


588  OUR   NEIGHBORS    IX 

corner  house  continued  to  be  an  unsolved  pro 
blem.  The  closer  intimacy  which  was  now  esta* 
blished  between  our  families,  and  apparent  to  all, 
in  no  way  lessened  the  curious  interest  that  was  felt, 

"Who  is  the  young  man  that's  been  staying  at 
your  house  for  some  time?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wilkins, 
two  or  three  months  later  in  the  progress  of  time. 
She  had  dropped  in  to  talk  with  rny  wife, 

"  lie  is  my  cousin." 

"  Indeed  !  I  wasn't  aware  of  it." 

"  Yes." 

Mrs.  Wilkins  looked  a  little  surprised  and  a 
little  mysterious. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  with  some  hesitation, 
as  if  she  were  making  a  communication  that 
would  not  be  altogether  agreeable,  ''that  he  visits 
at  the  corner  house  frequently," 

"  Indeed  !  "  remarked  my  wife. 

"  It's  true,  as  I'm  speaking." 

"  How  frequently  ?  " 

"  At  least  once  every  day,  and  sometimes  twice. 
Mrs.  Cromwell  told  me  that  she  saw  him  going  in 
there  twice  day  before  yesterday.  I  don't  like  to 
meddle  in  my  neighbors'  affairs,  but  I  felt  as  if 
you  ought  to  know  about  this.  And  now  that  I 
find  the  young  man  is  related,  I'm  glad  I've  tola 
you.  He  ought  to  be  put  on  his  guard." 

My  wife  promised  to  speak  with  Edgar  on  the 
subject. 


THE    COHXKII    I10USK.  289 

"Toll  him,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins,  "that  he'll  get 
himself  into  trouble  as  sure  as  he's  born.  There's 
a  mystery  about  them  people;  and  where  there's 
mystery,  there's  always  something  wr->ng." 

"There's  nothing  wrong  about  our  neighbor  in 
the  corner  house,"  said  I,  coming  in  at  this  point, 
and  speaking  positively  "There  was  something 
wrong,  I  have  good  reason  to  know,  about  Mr. 
Coimreve.  But  he  is  dead,  and  the  wrong  is  dead 
wiili  him." 

"  What  was  the  wrong?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wilkins, 
now  all  alive  with  curious  interest. 

u  I  can  only  answer  that  it  was  some  disrepu 
table,  or  I  might  say,  criminal  acts  done  years 
ago,  and  recently  thrown  open  to  light.  But,  in 
his  death,  has  come  a  compensation  for  the  wrong. 
It  lay  all  with  him,  and  died  with  him.  The  la 
dies  are  pure  and  innocent.  Be  assured  of  that, 
Mrs.  Wilkins." 

"Isn't  there  a  murdered  lover  in  the  case?" 
asked  our  neighbor. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  replied. 

She  looked  disappointed,  for  she  had  clung  to 
that  murdered  lover  from  the  beginning.  It  was 
a  favorite  hypothesis  in  explanation  of  the  mys 
tery. 

u  Then  there  isn't  any  great  mystery  after  all," 
said  Mrs.  Wilkins,  with  evidently  failing  interest. 

"  The  matter  rests  about  where  I  have  placed 
13 


290  OUR    NEIGHBORS    IN 

it.  Mr.  Congreve,  in  pursuing  some  desired  ob 
ject,  went,  as  other  men  o^'ten  do,  beyond  right, 
justice,  and  humanity;  and  in  his  payment  of 
wrong's  sure  penalty,  suffering  came  to  those  who 
were  in  close  connexion  with  him." 

"  They  might  have  buried  him  decently,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilkins,  "  if  only  for  decency's  sake."  She 
grew  a  little  indignant. 

"  His  body  lies  in  Green  Mount  Cemetery,"  I 
replied. 

u  Why  wasn^t  it  brought  home?     I  never  heard 

•  >  O 

of  anything  so  unfeeling!  I  don't  think  much  of 
any  woman  who  could  treat  a  dead  husband  after 
that  fashion !  Why,  there  wa.sn't  even  crape  on 
the  door!  " 

I  did  not  argue  this  point  with  Mrs.  Wilkhn.' 
To  defend  Mrs.  Congreve  on  the  right  ground, 
would  be  to  reveal  more  than  I  cared  to  bruit 
through  the  neighborhood. 

Mrs.  Wilkins  weni  nome  with  less  heart  in  the 
case.  But  a  month  or  two  later,  her  interest  was 
quickened  into  life  again  by  seeing  the  pale  lady, 
no  longer  in  black,  walking  out,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  Edgar  Hoi  man.  She  had  not  been  invited 
to  the  private  wedding  which  took  place  a  few 
days  before. 

The  corner  house  and  its  inmates  became  onco 
more  objects  of  curious  speculation  among  the 
neighbors.  But  as  nothing  further  in  the  way  of 


THE    CORNER    HOUSE.  291 

mystery  showed  itself,  and  the  people  began  to 
go  abroad  like  other  folks,  appearing  at  church, 
in  the  street,  and  occasionally  at  public  places, 
curiosity  died  out  for  want  of  fuel  to  keep  the 
flame  alive. 

A  year  has  passed,  and  the  neighbors,  as  they 
go  by  the  corner  house,  no  longer  glance  up  at  it 
in  a  mysterious  way,  or  look  eagerly  towards  the 
door  if  it  happens  to  stand  open.  It  has  become 
to  them  an  ordinary  house,  and  its  inmates  are 
regarded  as  among  our  common  people  of  the 
times. 


THE    END. 


T.  S.  AETHUE'S  POPULAB  WOEKS. 


THESE  books  are  all  gotten  up  in  the  best  style  of  binding,  and 
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JOHN  E.   POTTER  &.  COMPANY, 

tfos.  614  and  617  Sansom  Street, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR  ROOM,  and  What 

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have  contributed  largely  to  the  author's  great  popularity.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR. 
With  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

ADVICE    TO    YOUNG    MEN  on    their   Duties 

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ADVICE  TO  YOUNG  LADIES  on  their  Duties 

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THE   OLD  MAN'S  BRIDE;  or,  The  Lesson  of 

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and  sale.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

THE   HAND    WITHOUT    THE   HEART;  or, 

The  Iiife  Trials  of  Jessie  X,oring.  Exhibiting  a  noble  and  true  woman, 
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GOLDEN   GRAINS    FROM  LIFE'S    HAR- 

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THE   GOOD    TIME  COMING.     Exhibiting  the  dis- 

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sunlight  which  from  the  distance  is  continually  shining  down  upon  it  for 
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THE  ALLEN  HOUSE;  or,  Twenty  Years  Ago 

and  Now.  Portraying  vividly  the  legitimate  fruits  consequent  upon  the 
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ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1 25. 

WHAT  CAN  WOMAN  DO  ?  In  which  the  great  influ 
ence  and  power  of  woman,  for  good  or  for  evil,  is  shown  in  a  very  inter 
esting  series  of  life  pictures.  ByT.  S.ARTHUR.  With  Mezzotint  Frontispiece. 
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THE    WITHERED    HEART.     Affording    a   striking 

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"With  Mezzotint  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

THE  ANGEL  AND    THE   DEMON.     A  work  of 

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THE    TRIALS   AND     CONFESSIONS    OF  A 

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With  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

AFTER  THE  STORM.  A  new  and  fascinating  volume 
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THE    WAT   TO    PROSPER,  and  Other   Tales. 

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THE   ANGEL    OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD,  and 

Other  Tales.  In  which  we  learn  how  kind  feelings  and  obedience  to  our 
better  impulses  benefit  us,  and  how,  with  the  little  heavenly  visitant,  the 
tender  babe,  angelic  influences  enter  the  household.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR. 
With  Mezzotint  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1  50. 


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TRUE   RICHES;    or,   Wealth    Without    Wings, 

and  Other  Tales.  The  lessons  in  this  work  show  how  ruin  succeeds  to 
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HEART  HISTORIES,  and  Life  Pictures.  Giv 
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and  mournful  tones  that  almost  daily  cross  our  paths.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR. 
Cloth.  $1  50. 

HOME   SCENES:    Its   Lights   and  Shadows  as 

Pictured  by  Love  and  Selfishness.  Directed  toward  keeping  the  light 
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those  things  which  are  evil  and  selfish,  while  each  moral  presented  seems 
in  itself  a  jewel  worthy  a  place  in  memory's  casket.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR. 
Cloth.  $1 50. 

SPARING   TO   SPEND;    or,   The  Loftons  and 

the  Pinkertons.  A  book  showing  the  beneficial  results  of  a  wise  restric 
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which  in  this  extravagant  age  cannot  be  too  forcibly  illustrated.  By  T.  S. 
ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1 50. 

LIGHT  ON  SHADOWED  PATHS.    Stories  which 

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OUT  IN  THE  WORLD.  Unveiling  the  sad  experiences 
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OUR     NEIGHBORS     IN    THE    CORNER 

House.  A  fascinating  and  stirring  narrative,  •which  adds  its  terrible 
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NOTHING    BUT   MONEY.      Picturing,  in   the  most 

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very  many  young  minds  in  which  gold  outlustres  every  other  consideration. 
By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS.     A  sequel  to  the 

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discipline,  will  reveal  itself  in  our  intercourse  with  the  world.  By  T.  S. 
ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

THE  THREE  ERAS  IN  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE; 

or,  the  Maiden,  the  Wife,  and  the  Mother.  A  work  depicting  the 
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wrong,  and  showing  also  the  fruits  of  right  living.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  With 
Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

BEFORE  AND  AFTER  MARRIAGE;  or, 

SweetJtearts  and  Wives,  and  Other  Tales.  Drawing  choice  pictures 
of  lovers  and  husbands  and  wives,  faithfully  contrasting  marriage  and 
celibacy,  and  teaching  the  folly  of  employing  money  to  the  mere  pampering 
of  pride  and  indolence.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  With  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $150. 

THE    MARTYR    WIFEf  and    Other    Tales.     A 

remarkably  interesting  work,  pointing  out  social  follies,  and  including  the 
excellent  and  popular  stories  of  "The  Heiress,"  and  "The  Ruined  Gamester." 
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MARY  ELLIS;  or,   The  Runaway  Match,  and 

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ideal.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

THE    YOUNG   LADY  AT  HOME.     Home  stories 

most  happily  drawn  by  the  author,  involving  the  troubles,  errors,  and  per- 
plexities  incident  to  domestic  life,  and  showing  woman's  real  mission.  By 
T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

STEPS  TOWARDS  HEAVEN;  or,  Religion  in 

Common  Life.  A  volume,  free  from  sectarian  or  denominational  influ 
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the  highest  type  of  human  happiness.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS   OF   REAL  LIFE. 

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SKETCHES    OF  LIFE   AND     CHARACTER. 

Pleasantly  written  stories,  drawn  from  everyday  life,  and  free  from  all 
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mind  of  the  reader.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  With  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

LEAVES  FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  HUMAN 

Life.  A  choice  selection  of  stories,  intended  to  leave  the  mind  active  with 
good  purposes  and  kindly  sympathies — the  value  of  each  one  of  which  is 
clearly  evident.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Numerous  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

SWEET  HOME;  or,  Friendship's  Golden  Altar. 

A  companion  for  the  evening  hour  ;  pure  in  morals,  elevating  in  tone,  cheer 
ful,  hopeful,  and  reverent  in  all  its  views  of  God,  and  a  transcript  of  "  Home, 
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Cloth,  fl  25. 


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THE    ANGEL    VISITOR;    or,     Voices    of    the 

Heart.  Intended  to  bring  light  and  joy  to  those  who  are  heavy  in  heart, 
as  well  as  to  echo  the  gentle  teachings  of  Jesus,  and  to  comfort  the  sick  and 
afflicted  everywhere.  By  FRANCES  E.  PERCIVAL.  With  Mezzotint  Frontis 
piece.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

THE  MORNING  STAR,;  or,  Symbols  of  Christ. 

An  excellent  volume,  designed  to  magnify  the  beauty  and  wisdom  of  the 
Word  of  God,  and  to  cause  the  believer  and  unbeliever  to  think  more  of  the 
Saviour.  By  WILLIAM  M.  THAYER,  author  of  "Hints  for  the  Household," 
"Pastor's  Wedding  Gift,"  etc.  etc.  Cloth.  $125. 

THE  SPIRIT  LAND.     An  instructive  and  very  desirable 

work,  which  is  submitted  to  the  public  with  the  counsel  that  we  cling  to 
the  Word  of  God  as  the  only  infallible  guide  of  faith  and  practice  amid  the 
fanaticisms  of  the  day.  By  S.  B.  EMMONS.  With  Mezzotint  Frontispiece. 
Cloth.  $1  25. 

THE  DESERTED  FAMILY;  or,  The  Wander- 

ings  of  an  Outcast.  A  forcibly  and  prettily  written  story,  designed  to 
soften  the  heart  to  just  influences,  to  warm  the  affections  to  proper  emotions, 
and  to  elevate  and  fructify  the  soul.  By  PAUL  CREYTON.  With  Illustrations. 
Cloth.  $1  25. 

FASHIONABLE   DISSIPATION.     A  stylish  and 

brilliant  narrative,  which,  together  with  "  Adela  Lincoln:  A.  Tale  oj 
the  Wine  Cup,"  included  in  the  book,  is  high-toned  and  worthy  popular 
favor.  The  former  by  METTA  VICTORIA  FULLER,  the  latter  by  M.  F.  CAREY. 
With  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

LIVING  AND  LOVING.  A  collection  of  beautiful 
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to  the  authoress,  and  which  are  highly  instructive.  By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWN- 
SEND.  With  fine  Steel  Portrait.  Cloth.  $1  23. 


8  NEW  AND  LATE  BOOKS. 

WHILE  IT  WAS  MORNING.  One  of  the  authoress's 
sweetest  stories,  in  which  we  are  taught  that  sorrow,  pain,  and  disappoint 
ment  must  come  to  all  in  the  world ;  jet  the  grand  truth  stands  out  in 
glorious  significance — "The  righteous  shall  not  lose  their  reward."  By 
VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

ANNA    CLAYTON;   or,  The  Mother's  Trial.    A 

tale  of  real  life,  written  with  beauty  and  force ;  and  in  its  plot  and  execution 
of  the  very  highest  moral  excellence  and  useful  tendency.  By  Mrs.  H.  J. 
MOORE.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

THE   CHRISTIAN'S  GIFT.     Embodying  some  of  the 

most  select  religious  articles  from  the  finest  minds,  among  which  are  "The 
Kefuge  from  the  Storm,"  "The  Sabbath  and  Heaven,"  "  Heaven  Conceivable 
to  the  Christian,"  etc.  etc.  By  Kev.  RUFCS  W.  CLARK,  author  of  "  Heaven 
and  its  Emblems,"  etc.  etc.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

WOMAN'S    MISSION  AND    WOMAN'S    IN- 

flucnce.  A  wonderful  work,  of  which  Bishop  Doane  has  said,  "It  is  the 
very  book  which,  if  I  had  a  thousand  daughters,  I  would  put  into  their 
hands,  with  the  Bible  and  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  as  their  best  companion, 
&c."  Tenth  American,  from  the  Seventeenth  London  Edition.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

THE  ENCHANTED  BE  A  UTY,  and  Other  Tales, 

Essays,  and  Sketches.  Embracing  many  of  the  finest,  most  elaborate, 
and  finished  articles  of  the  well-known  author.  By  Dr.  WILLIAM  ELDER, 
author  of  "The  Life  of  Dr.  Kane,"  etc.  etc.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

THE  RAINBOW  AROUND  THE  TOMB;  or, 

Jlay&  of  Hope  for  those  who  Jtfourn.  A  carefully  arranged  and  attrac 
tive  book  of  selections,  both  of  prose  and  poetry,  containing  much  of  wisdom 
in  several  departments,  and  forming  a  valuable  and  desirable  gift  for  the 
Christian  parent,  child,  or  friend.  By  EMILY  THORNWELL,  author  of  "The 
Ladies'  Guide  to  Perfect  Gentility,"  "Young  Ladies'  Own  Book,"  etc.  etc. 
Cloth.  $150. 


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HEAVEN    AND     ITS    SCRIPTURAL     EM- 

blems.  A  series  of  articles  on  the  splendors  and  joys  of  glorified  saints 
and  their  secret  communion  with  the  Father  in  the  Holy  of  Holies.  By 
Rev.  RUFUS W.  CLARK,  authorof"  The  Christian's  Gift,"  "  Lectures  to  Young 
Men,"  etc.  etc.  With  Steel  Illustration.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

THE  YOUNG  LADIES9  OWN  BOOK.    An  offer- 

ing  of  love  and  sympathy,  dedicated  to  the  maidens  of  her  native  land,  and 
containing  admirable  selections,  in  prose  and  verse,  which  will  universally 
be  regarded  as  superior  in  quality  and  authorship  to  most  similar  works. 
BY  EMILY  THORNWELL,  author  of  "The  Rainbow  around  the  Tomb,"  etc.  etc. 
Cloth.  $1  75. 

SUNLIGHT  AND    SHADOW;   or,   The  Poetry 

of  Home.  A  sprightly  and  well- written  work,  in  which  we  are  led  through 
scenes  and  incidents  descriptive  of  rural  life  in  America  ;  designed  for  the 
entertainment  of  young  men  and  ladies.  By  HARRY  PENCILLER.  Cloth.  $175. 

THE  ORPHAN  BOY;  or,  Lights  and  Shadows 

of  Humble  Life,  This  touching  story  of  humble  life  illustrates  the  magnet 
ism  of  love  over  the  human  soul,  and  in  the  perusal  of  it  the  heart  of  the 
reader  will  often  be  drawn  out  in  sympathy  with  the  hero  of  the  tale.  By 
JEREMY  LODD.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

THE  FORGER'S  DAUGHTER;  or,  Out  of  the 

Shadow  into  the  Sun.  A  book  for  pleasurable  and  profitable  pastime, 
which  will  interest  and  arouse  the  sympathies  of  every  intelligent  reader. 
By  MARTHA  RUSSELL.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

OUR   PARISH;   or,   fen  Paintings   of   Village 

JAfe.  A  delightful  story  of  rural  life,  in  which  the  principal  characters  are 
among  those  earnest  and  sincere  souls  that  gather  every  sabbath  in  simple 
country  churches.  By  GEdfcuE  CANNING  HILL,  Esq.  With  Steel  Frontispiece. 
Cloth.  $1  75. 


10  NEW  AND  LATE  BOOKS. 

OUR  FOLKS  AT  HOME ;   or,  Life  at  the  Old 

Manor  House.  The  object  in  this  work  is  to  impress  upon  the  young 
the  imp  "rtance  of  having  an.  object  in  life,  and  that  object  a  really  useful 
one.  By  EDWARD  TOLIVER.  Handsomely  illustrated  by  engravings  from 
original  designs.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

HANS  THE  STRANGER,  and  Other  Stories.    In 

which  the  author  keeps  in  view  utility  in  its  higher  sense,  and  endeavors  to 
show  to  the  young  that  the  true  purpose  of  life  is  not  amusement  or  enjoy 
ment,  but  usefulness.  By  EDWARD  TOJJVER.  Handsomely  illustrated  by 
engravings  from  original  designs.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

THE   WREATH  OF  GEMS.     A  neat  unique  gift  book 

for  the  young  of  both  sexes,  in  which  are  selections  from  the  best  English 
and  American  literature — groupings  which  will  be,  doubtless,  both  new  and 
highly  acceptable.  By  EMILY  PERCIVAL.  Steel  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

THE  EARLY  MORN.     A  small  volume  addressed  to  the 

young  on  the  importance  of  religion,  which  will  be  found  admirably  adapted 
to  such  intelligent  and  educated  young  persons  as  have  been  unmindful  of 
the  demands  of  religion.  By  JOHN  FOSTER,  author  of  "  Essays  on  Decision  of 
Character."  Cloth.  2o  cents. 


A  full  descriptive  Catalogue  of  these  and  all  our  publications, 
including  a  great  variety  of  Bibles,  Testaments,  and  Albums,  and 
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cal,  and  Miscellaneous  Books  in  the  country,  will  be  sent  to  any 
address  on  application.  Address, 

JOHN  E.  POTTER  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

614  and  617  Sansom  St.,  Philadelphia. 

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